Hey There, Delilah
by argylekneesocks
Summary: Delilah Johnson is nerdy, blunt, and obnoxiously average. She has also been secretly drooling over Adam Banks for the past three years. She's not his type and he's out of her league, but could she be just what he needs? CHAPTER 6 AND 7 ARE UP! R/R PLEASE!
1. A Caffinated Introduction of Sorts

**author's note:** I own nothing you recognize, no matter how much I wish Adam were my love slave...I mean friend...yeah, friend in real life...  
Here is a playlist of music I listened to while writing.

**Playlist:**

_Hair-_ The Early November

_Risqué-_ Cute is What We Aim For

_Photobooth-_ Deathcab For Cutie

_Chocolate-_ Snow Patrol

* * *

The clock ticked slowly as Delilah Johnson counted down the minutes until she was off of work. Well, hour and thirty minutes. Nobody had come into the little coffee shop for at least an hour, and since their last customer, she'd meticulously scrubbed all milk residue off of the steaming wands, cleaned out the grounds in the espresso bar, restocked all syrups and powders, _and_ managed to decorate the Coffee of the Week board; there was only so much more she could do before it would all be _done._

"Delilah?" a sickeningly sweet voice called from, followed by the appearance of her manager's sickeningly sweet face. "Sweetheart, can you do floors for me while Tim washes dishes back here?" Elaine asked with a condescending smile on her lips as she slipped into the café. The smile faded, somewhat, as she caught site of Delilah's feet. "You know, dear, those shoes aren't regulation," she politely reprimanded the redhead who had remained silent thus far.

"Yeah, Elaine, I know," Delilah began, trying her best to not clench her fists as she spoke. "It's just, the non-slip ones hurt my feet, you know?" The girl brushed a frizzy red curl behind her ear as she turned away from the uniform Nazi—she couldn't spend one more minute looking into those purple-lined eyes. Didn't the woman know it wasn't 1985 any more?

"I'm sorry sweetie, but if you slip because you're wearing those silly Taylor Chucks instead of the shoes you're supposed to wear, I'm going to have to file an injury report." Elaine had followed Delilah to the water spigot where the girl was filling up the mop bucket. The older woman leaned forward, her artificial smile looking much like that of a painted clown as she came face-to-face with Delilah. Her lipstick was smudged all over the corner of her mouth. It was pathetic, really. Elaine was forty-five, divorced and lonely, and the Koffey Haus was her life, literally. Her makeup was always smeared, her hair was always half-styled, and she spoke with such a soft and condescending voice, that you had to have super-sonic ears to understand her. Looking into the ridiculous face of a 10-year Koffey Haus employee, Delilah promised herself that she wouldn't have the same fate; she'd quit as soon as she graduated, before getting roped into full-time employment, and she was never going to wear make-up again—just as a precaution, you know.

"I'm sorry Elaine, I'll wear the non-slip shoes next time," Delilah conceded, knowing that sometimes the only way to get the woman off of her back was to give her her way. "We're not being very productive right now though," she continued, rinsing and squeezing the mop, "so why don't you go finish counting out the deposit and I'll mop the floor behind the bar like you said." Delilah hated mopping the floor, but it would get Elaine off of her back. "I'll be careful." Elaine gave her a condescending smile, her aubergine-rimmed eyes revealing that she was really rather annoyed.

"I appreciate you," she said with a meaningful nod of her head, squeezing the girl a little too tightly on the arm before turning to go back to her counting. "If you get busy, call me or Tim."

_Appreciate me, my ass._ Reluctantly, Delilah began to mop the tile flooring behind the café counter, scrubbing extra-hard at the coffee and milk stains off of the floor so that the Nazi wouldn't nag her about them later. Delilah gave a little laugh as she mused over the vow she'd made just moments before. Like she had time for make-up anyway: if she wasn't asleep, she was at school, if she wasn't at school, she was at work, and if she wasn't at work, she was asleep. She had little time for a social life, much less makeup to accentuate it. Not that she didn't want to wear makeup— in her opinion, her celery-green eyes looked far too small without mascara, her freckles were far too obvious, and her skin looked pale and dull. The girl was far from a beauty queen, true, but she wasn't as unfortunate as she had deemed herself.

Agonizingly bored, the girl's ears perked up as she heard the familiar trill of the door sensor. Surely, Saturday morning she'd be begging for customers to stop entering the store, but on a rainy Friday night like this, she was five minutes away from dragging people inside. Setting the mop into the bucket, she turned to welcome the much-needed customers. Just as quickly as her eyes set on them, she ducked behind the Espresso bar, pretending to calibrate the shots. Her face had blanched as she recognized her school's Varsity hockey team. Okay, maybe not the whole Varsity hockey team, but part of it. The important part anyway.

"How are you guys doing today?" she called over the Espresso bar as was custom, hoping to regain composure. Smiling and nodding as they answered, she looked back up at the group. Both of the team's female players, the captain, and two other players, along with a girl in their grade and a boy who had graduated the year before were standing in the shop. Oh, who was she kidding—she knew who they all were. She knew them by name and jersey number, because much to her dismay she had a freakishly good memory for names, and was always the one that looked like a creepy idiot when being re-introduced to someone because she knew who they were, but they didn't know her. She was clearly an unremarkable loser. "What can I get started for you guy?" She asked, fake smile settling onto her lips as her cheeks flushed hot. Why, oh why, oh why did he have to see her like this?

"Hi," the captain greeted Delilah with a friendly smile as he took a step closer to the counter, tugging at Linda's hand as he did. "I'm going to get a Venti Americano, and whatever she's having." He motioned for the dark-haired to come forward and order.

"Can I get your name for that?" she asked, concentrating very hard on writing on the paper cup, and not looking at the boy standing behind Charlie Conway.

"Charlie," he replied, smirking. "C-h-a-r-l-," he was cut off mid sentence,

"She can spell, Charlie," Linda cut in, giving Delilah a wink. "Hey Delilah," she greeted the girl with a polite smile. "I need a Tall White Mocha."

Delilah took orders, two at a time, working through Charlie and Linda, Connie and Guy, Scooter and Julie, making their drinks as quick as she could, processing their orders while steaming milk. Finally, when she thought she was done, she looked up to see none other than Adam Banks waiting for someone to take his order. Her cheeks instantly flushed as her eyes met his, and she had to look away; this was ridiculous!

"What-What can I get started for you?" Delilah asked a point on the wall just above Adam's shoulder, just knowing her cheeks were the same color as her hair, an uneasy smile on her lips. _Why_ hadn't she put on any mascara today?

"I'm not much of a coffee drinker," he replied with a friendly smile, clearly unbeknownst to or uncaring towards Delilah's uneasiness. "What's good?" His blue eyes practically sparkled as he asked the question, and yes, Delilah felt her knees wobble a little bit.

"Well, do you want something cold or hot?" Okay, the smile was a little less forced now—she was actually talking to _Adam Banks_!

"Hot. Definitely hot on a day like today. Have you been outside lately?" Delilah couldn't help but think that Adam was always hot, no matter what the weather was like.

"Yeah, it's terrible. The humidity is making my hair crazy." _Oh, God_. If Delilah could have banged her head into a wall at that very moment, she would have. _Why, oh why did I bring attention to the hair?_

"I think your hair looks fine," Adam assured her with a smile. "What's your favorite drink? Maybe I'll try it."

Rather than process his question immediately, her mind flooded with the realization that _HE JUST SAID HE LIKED MY HAIR! _Well, maybe in not so many words, but he didn't agree when she said it looked crazy. That was good, right? Oh, yeah, the question. "Well, my favorite drink is a Caramel Mocha Macchiato," she began, relaxing slightly. Coffee was her element, she could do this. Coffee would keep her from making a total ass of herself, right? "It's Vanilla and Mocha syrup, with steamed milk, then the shots are poured on top, over the foam, because Macchiato means 'marked foam,' but that's probably more than you want to know, and then there is caramel on top of that." The boy looked a little unsure about what she described, so she added: "I can make you something else if you don't like it."

"You know what, that sounds great," he replied, smiling that smile that made her brain turn to goo. "I'm just not sure what size to get."

"Grande is safe," she said quickly, beginning to steam milk at the Espresso machine. "Not too much, not too little – just enough."

"Grande it is, then," he agreed.

"Adam, right?" she asked, playing dumb as she marked the cup, a false look of uncertainty on her face. Adam Banks, number 99, forward, Junior Goodwill Games Champion, only freshman to make Varsity before the school switched over to the Ducks.

"Yeah, that's me," he confirmed, clearly wondering how she knew his name. "Do you go to Eden Hall?"

"Yeah," Delilah answered, a little hurt that he didn't know who she was, but why should he? "I'm in your Art History class." _And I was in your English class last year, and your chemistry class sophomore year, and your Geometry class freshman year… _"I'm Delilah."

Adam nodded in acknowledgement, smiling as if he'd just figured some big secret out all on his own. "I knew I knew you from somewhere."

Okay, so she was having a practically normal conversation with the boy she'd been lusting after for three years, and everything was going great. The milk was steamed and poured, the shots were pulling, and she'd used the right amount of syrup for a perfect drink. Good. Once the shots had finished pulling, Delilah quickly poured them over the foam, and then, because he couldn't see, instead of drawing the traditional grid pattern on top of the foam with the caramel, she opted for a more meaningful symbol—he wasn't going to see it after she put the lid on anyway, right? Methodically, she etched a caramel heart into the brown and white foam at the top of the cup, making sure there was enough caramel to sweeten the beverage. Quickly, she pushed a lid on the cup and took care to slosh it just slightly, so in the off chance he did take the lid off, it wouldn't be a recognizable shape anymore.

"Okay, Adam, your Grande Caramel Mocha Macchiato is ready," she said cheerily, in an almost robotic manner as she handed him his drink. Working at the Koffey Haus made it almost automatic, like a second nature. "You want to taste that for me and make sure you like it?" she asked, brushing a stray curl back behind her ear. Adam lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip, then smiled in her direction.

"It's great. How much do I owe you?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Nothing, it's on me today." Delilah offered the boy what she hoped was an alluring smile, and not completely frightening, then began to clean her dirtied utensils.

"Thanks," Adam offered, his brow quirked quizzically. Charlie called for 'Banksie' to leave, they were ready to go, so he waved goodbye to the little red-haired girl before walking out the door. Sighing, Delilah watched as he followed his friends out.

"Bye, Delilah, I'll see you in Statistics," Linda called to her as she left.

"Bye."

Slumping against the bar after they had left, the girl replayed the scene in her mind twice, as all the stupid things she said and the promising comments he made were magnified. Halfway through the third replay, the ever-sweet, ever-cheerful voice of Elaine called to her.

"Delilah, you've got fifteen minutes left in your shift. Are those floors done?"

"Almost," she replied with a sigh, wringing the broom out once more.

"Thanks, Sweetie. I really need you to clock out on time today, okay?"

"Alrighty, Elaine," Delilah sighed, dragging the soapy mop head over the tile.

"Thank you, Delilah. I appreciate you."

"Yeah, right," Delilah grumbled before taking a step onto the wet floor to rinse the broom. As she did, she lost her footing and ended up smack on her bottom in the center of the floor. Lord, she hated it when Elaine was right.

* * *

Sipping on his Caramel Mocha Something-something, Adam Banks walked along with his friends, not giving a second thought to the girl in the café. He'd felt a little bad at first, not recognizing her from class, but it was a big school with lots of students. Almost everyone knew the team simply because of their exploits Freshman year, and it was pretty impossible for Adam Banks to personally recognize everyone. 

"Adam, I can't believe you didn't know who Delilah was!" Linda exclaimed, coming up behind him. "That was so rude!" the petite brunette girl proceeded to smack the blonde boy in the arm. "We've had classes with her since Freshman year. _Freshman Year_, Adam." Linda was clearly one for politeness.

"I'm sorry?" What did the girl want to hear? He was sorry for not knowing everyone? "It's a big school."

"Adam," she began, pausing to sip on her drink. "She's got curly red hair. Red heads are a dying breed—there's only a few of them left."

Adam shook his head in exasperation as they continued down the sidewalk, his friends snickering at Linda's reprimand. "We don't do much talking in Art History—it's a lecture class." Adam let out a little sigh as Linda rolled her eyes. "Can't you put a muzzle on her or something?" he called to Charlie, ruffling Linda's hair to reinforce his jest.

"Banksie, I'm going to have to agree with the lady here," Charlie laughed. "Even if you don't recognize her from class, you have to have seen her at the games—she comes to _every single one_."

"What?" Adam asked, clearly confused.

"Banks, she sits right behind our bench," Connie interjected.

"Really?" the group nodded to answer Adam's question.

"She's a heartbeat away from tattooing your name on her butt." Connie elbowed Guy in the stomach just as soon as the comment left his mouth. He gave her a hurt look and uttered an apology; she looked quite content. Linda sent a sharp look in Guy's direction, and then turned her attention back to the blushing Adam Banks.

"Didn't you think she was at least _kind_ of pretty?"

"I guess," Adam conceded, obviously feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I mean, she isn't gorgeous or anything. She's actually kind of plain looking."

"_Plain_?" Julie asked incredulously. "Bright red hair, green eyes, and freckles are _plain_ to you?" The blonde girl gave her head a shake. Simultaneously, the three females sighed, as if communicating telepathically.

"I know she's not a super-model-in-training, like you're used to dating," Linda started, rolling her eyes as Charlie let out a here-she-goes-again type sigh. "But she's pretty, and she's nice, and she's smart, and she clearly likes you." Adam looked away from the group as they walked, not comfortable discussing his social life and romantic possibilities in open forum. "Just say hello to her next time you guys have class together. It would make her day." Adam nodded quietly, appeasing the ever-verbal Linda.

They walked and talked for some time longer, Adam remaining mostly silent as they wound their way through the park and back to the school's campus. He wasn't thinking about the coffee shop, or Delilah, or Art History as they made their trek; he'd been thinking about the last girlfriend—more specifically how their relationship had ended. Amber had been the love of this month: thin, legs for days, cheerleader; Adam's type to a T. He'd slept with her on their first date, and things had gone great for about three weeks. It had been another one of those whirl-wind relationships: everything happens so fast, and when it's finally done, you feel like you've been run over by an eighteen wheeler.

As it turned out, Amber not only liked to sleep with Adam, but she liked to sleep with a few of the Varsity Soccer players as well. He didn't hold it against her—they never said they were exclusive, but it's always a little alarming to find out that you aren't the only one whose been dipping your quill in the ink well.

"Guys, I'm going to keep walking for a while," he called out ahead to his friends as they walked toward the Student Union. Taking his leave, he turned the corner and headed toward a thicket of trees behind the baseball fields. Amber hadn't broken his heart of course—he'd seen the other face of the coin, he'd been the cheater. He wasn't promiscuous, but he certainly wasn't exclusive. He was smart, and never did anything he didn't want to or didn't mean to do. Sophomore year, his theory had been that why, when there were so many beautiful young women, should he limit himself to just one? Of course, he'd changed a bit since then—grown up and realized that there was more to life than girls.

Stopping at the thicket finally, the boy gave a sigh of relief as he realized that it was still a relatively secret place, well, unless you were a squirrel or a sparrow. Adam reached up into the tree and found two good branches to hold onto. Pulling tightly with his arms, he worked his feet up the side of the tall tree. High in its branches, the boy nestled himself comfortably in his thinking spot. Cool blue eyes focusing on the school flag that flew in the distance, Adam slipped into the world of grown-up thought. Perhaps the reason Amber's infidelity had bothered him so much was because he too had committed the crime. Maybe it was because he knew he was taking after his father, hot on the trail to mistresses and split living arrangements. Like father, like son, right? Mostly though, it was because he had actually cared about Amber more than she cared about him. He had given more of himself to her than she had to him for the first time, ever.

But, c'est la vie, no? This is growing up, realizing your mistakes and righting them? Had he really been so rude to Delilah by no knowing who she was? He would have noticed if the girl from the café were flirting with him, wouldn't he? He wasn't the type to overtly miss that sort of attention. But from the way the other's had talked, it sounded like she was shy. Maybe he would say hello to Delilah the Latte Girl.

Sliding down from the tree, he dusted bark from his clothes and began to make his way towards the boy's dormitory. Hands stuffed into pockets he looked up to the hazy sky just in time for the rain to begin again, wetting his handsome face. A slight grin broke out onto the boy's lips as he walked in the rain, the large water droplets penetrating the fabric of his clothes with every step he took. Water was running from his hair into his eyes, and he could honestly say that it didn't bother him. In fact, he sort of enjoyed it.

Meandering slowly across campus, he stopped in front of the girls' dormitory, wondering if _she _was in there; if _they_ were in there. Amber, he knew, lived in that particular dormitory—he'd snuck in trough the window many a time, but this Delilah, he knew nothing of. Maybe she didn't even leave on campus. Shaking his head, water flying from his hair as he did, he continued on his way to the boys' dorm.


	2. Friendly Advice?

**author's note:** I own nothing you recognize ;-)

Also, I've included a playlist of songs I listened to while writing the chapter-- I added one to Chapter One as well.

**Playlist:**  
_A Good Start_- Maria Taylor  
_I'm Ready- _Jack's Mannequin  
_Fidelity_- Regina Spektor  
_Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk_- Rufus Wainwright

* * *

"He came into the café today," Delilah gushed as she shut the dorm door behind her. She was all smiles, the fact that she thought she made an ass out of herself clearly gone from her mind. 

"Whom?" her roommate and best friend, Marianne, asked, glancing up from the magazine she'd been reading.

"_Him,_" Delilah gushed, leaning against the door. "The love of my life. My future husband who doesn't know we're betrothed." The girl giggled, a silly grin about her lips as she slid down the cool surface of the door facing. Marianne just rolled her eyes and glanced back down at her magazine.

"Are you ever going to get over Banks?" the girl asked, clearly amused. "Isn't he, like, taken or something?" Marianne folded the magazine shut, marking her place with her index finger. "A petite, leggy cheerleader, practically perfect in every way?" Now it was Delilah's turn to roll her eyes—leave it to Marianne to be a realist.

"They aren't dating," Delilah replied, crossing her legs in front of her. She untied her black apron and pulled it off over her head, in the process spraying the room with water as her damp curls shook about. Grimacing, she pushed back the loose curls that had fallen in her face. "They broke up."

"And he'll just find another perfect cheerleader. He always does."

"I wish he would just talk to me some more." The redhead was now staring down into her hands, lacing the finger together.

"You know, it would help if you _actually_ took inititive to get to know him, but come on, Dearest, _you_ really aren't his type." The brunette showed no signs of remorse as she uttered the last phrase, and returned to her reading. Hurt, Delilah's eyes became slightly glassy with moisture, but she wasn't going to cry. Nope, not going to cry. Marianne, as good of a friend as she could be, always seemed to cut her "best" friend down at the worst times. It was sort of a defense mechanism, Delilah assumed. Marianne didn't make good grades, and Delilah didn't get any dates.

Sighing, the girl stood up and walked to her closet. With a small degree of difficulty, she pulled off the green polo she'd been wearing at work, sticky with rain from her bike-ride home. The girl reluctantly looked down at her body with a sneer. For the ump-teenth time, she took inventory of the flaws: too small a bust line, too pudgy a stomach, too pale skin marked with unsightly freckles. It wasn't as bad as she thought— she really wasn't any rounder than the average girl, and her freckles were sparse. Yes, her chest wasn't made of mountains, but then again, she wasn't sporting molehills either. No matter how many times she was told this, the girl refused to listen. Sighing, she pulled a dry sweatshirt on over her head. Now for the _really _fun part.

As Delilah slid the black work pants from her hips, she almost felt like crying. Marianne's words reverberated through her head, "_practically perfect, leggy, not his type."_ Marianne was right—Delilah didn't fit the bill. She had muscular thighs and claves, which she found unsightly, and her bottom was certainly on the larger side of the scale. Her milky-white thighs were marred by unsightly cellulite dimples at the top, and she was certain she'd inherited her mother's saddlebags. With a body like that, how could she ever hope to catch Adam Banks' eye? Sighing, the girl stepped into some pajama pants, and then flopped onto her bed. Marianne was absolutely correct.

Marianne was Adam's type: not to tall, but not short. She was model-thin and had normal-colored hair that almost never looked bad. She could go out in the sun without long-sleeves or sunscreen, and actually get a tan. She wore shorts all of the time because she had graceful, thin legs, and she looked killer in a bikini. She had big, round blue eyes and full lips and a perfect little baby face. She was freckle-free, and had perfectly straight teeth because her parents could afford braces for her. The only things that kept Delilah from strangling Marianne to death were their four-years of friendship, and the fact that Delilah knew she would get into any college she applied to. Marianne would have a hard time getting into the accelerated classes at the community college.

Smirking, the girl rose up on her elbows and looked across the room to the walking stick-figure's bed. "I made an A plus on the English test," she announced, then lay back down. She'd helped grade the tests, so she already knew Marianne had failed it. It was a sick little game they played, one-upping each other to make them feel better about themselves. Friendships weren't supposed to be like this.

* * *

"Should I really have known who she was?" Adam asked his roommate out of the blue. He hadn't really been thinking about it, but out of nowhere the afternoon's coffee expedition popped into his head. 

"I don't know, man," Charlie replied, obviously annoyed that his favorite television show was being interrupted. "I mean, she has been at every home game since freshman year—her and that Marianne girl." Charlie turned his focus back to the people on screen, as the conversation was over from his point of view.

"And I've had classes with her?" he asked, trying to place her in the past. He couldn't exactly remember ever speaking to her before that night, but he did know who Marianne was. Charlie let out a very obviously exaggerated, very exasperated sigh as he turned the television off, all hope of enjoying his thirty minutes of weekly entertainment gone out the window.

"Yeah, don't you remember when she called me an idiot in English last year? When we were discussing Great Expectations? I know you laughed about it for a week." Adam gave a low chuckle at the memory—it really had amused him. He wasn't paying attention that day, so he didn't know _who_ had said it, but he thought it was hilarious.

"You should really think before you speak," Adam replied, his laughter growing. "I mean, I know you thought you were trying to be funny, but what did you think was going to happen when you said the Convict was trying to steal Pip's lunch money in the churchyard?" Shaking his head, Adam began to rifle through his backpack, looking for homework. "But really, do you know anything about her?

"It _was_ funny," Charlie defended, looking slightly hurt. "Averman laughed."

"Averman laughs at everybody's lame jokes," Adam countered. "But, really, Linda knows her, doesn't she?"

"Are you interested?" Charlie asked with an inquisitive quirk to his brow. "Yeah, Linda knows her. Says she's really smart, and tends to say exactly what she thinks out loud." Adam nodded, flipping aimlessly through his Economics book. "Banksie, in my experience, she seems like kind of a bitch. It's like she doesn't care whose feelings she hurts when she speaks. And she's sort of snobby—doesn't talk to many people." Adam looked up from his book, amused.

"You're just mad because she made fun of you in front of everyone." Throwing the book aside, he lay back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "Maybe she's just shy, not snobby."

"Maybe, but she's not even your type," Charlie countered, confused by Adam's sudden interest in the redheaded coffee girl.

"My type?" Adam asked incredulously, hurling a pillow at his roommate. "I have a type?"

"Yeah," Charlie grunted, throwing the pillow back at him. "Kind of short, skinny, big boobs. Usually blonde, and almost always a cheerleader. Why don't you just go after Marianne—she'd fit you better, you know?" Adam threw the pillow straight up in the air and then caught it, contemplating his friend's words. It was true—he did tend to go for a specific type of girl, and Marianne was that type. Delilah certainly wasn't.

"Look, I'm not even thinking about dating her, but if I was, maybe I should change things up a little?"

* * *

Groaning as her alarm clock sounded, Delilah rolled out of bed. Slamming her hand down hard on the beastly piece of machinery, she read the blurry red numbers. _Three fifty, AM?_ The girl had already hit the snooze button twice, and had to be on the road by four twenty to get to work on time, so she reluctantly got out of bed. After a quick shower, she decided that morning was one for makeup. Applying little more than powder, mascara, and blush, the redhead was ready in a matter of minutes and quietly left the girls' dormitory. She rode her bike to work that morning at an easy pace, taking care to roll through all of the puddles left by the previous evening's rain; something about the sound of the water hitting the wheels was almost musical. 

She arrived at work just at four thirty and quickly ran inside the little café. They didn't open until five, but already people were queuing up outside the front door. Hastily, she worked with the other employees to fill up the pastry case with fresh-baked goodies and brew coffee. As soon as Tim unlocked the front door, it was as if the flood gates had been raised; a group of exceedingly grumpy, half-asleep people filled the story, which was completely obnoxious because it was Saturday, and no one in their right mind was up before nine on a Saturday. It was tough, that first half-hour. Some people were easy to placate, others were not, and with only two people making drinks and one on the register, the wait was only slightly longer than they'd anticipated, which was just too long for them.

By five forty-five, the café was empty, and the early morning rush was over. Tim took his thirty-minute break and Janette began to catalogue the shipment they received the night before. Delilah was left to mind the front, which really didn't bother her; she loved working on the espresso bar, and while the others went about their business, she tested the shots and cleaned the steaming wand. Delilah felt about the machine she'd so affectionately dubbed "Ferris" the same way many men felt about their sports cars. Satisfied that Ferris, and his counterpart, Sloane the Espresso Hopper were in working order, she began to re-stock the pastry case. It looked like a war-damaged country side, decimated in a rain of fire from the enemy. Shaking her head, the girl artistically arranged a tray of muffins—why did they even bother trying to make it look nice in the mornings?

At the familiar din of the door sensor, Delilah went into automatic greeter mode. "Good Morning, and welcome to the Koffey Haus! What can I get started for you today?" Her voice was way too chipper for six fifteen in the morning. Looking up from the muffins, a forced smile on her lips, she stood stock-still in disbelief. _He_ was there, _AGAIN!_ And this time, he was alone. Blinking, she walked to the register, wiping her hands on the front of her apron.

"Hey," he replied, obviously a little taken aback by her greeting. His eyes puffy from sleep and his hair still wet from an early morning shower. He appeared to be wearing his pajama's still-- a sweatshirt and plaid flannel pants-- and Delilah blushed as she caught herself thinking that he could make anything look good. "I'm glad you're here—I want that thing you made me yesterday, but I couldn't remember what it was called." A half smile settled on his lips, as if he was slightly embarrassed, and Delilah honestly thought she was going to swoon— _he_ was glad _she_ was there! He actually said it!

Delilah felt her face grow hot as she began to mark his coffee cup. "A Grande Caramel Mocha Macchiato for Adam," she said out loud, which was ridiculous because she was making the drink herself. Hey, he knew what it was called now though, didn't he? Offering him a wink, she set to preparing his drink, praying she wouldn't do anything to look too stupid in front of him this time.

"Sounds like you've been dipping into the coffee already this morning," he joked, leaning forward on the counter. She noticed him watching her work and suddenly became extremely conscious of what she looked like. Well, at least she had make-up on this morning. Laughing anxiously, she shook her head, her less-frizzy-than-the-day-before curls bouncing about her shoulders.

"Nope, not yet." Sighing, she began to pour the foamy milk into the hot cup as the shots began to pour from the machine. "I've been here since four thirty, and couldn't go back to sleep if I wanted to. I'm wide awake." Looking up at the boy for a moment, she shrugged her shoulders, and then poured the shots on top of the milk. "Why are you up so early, Mr. 'Not Much of a Coffee Drinker?'" The boy's mouth broke into a full, dazzling smile at her words, and he gave his eyes a roll.

"Seven AM practice and I've been craving one of those things since I finished the one you made me last night." Nodding her head in acknowledgement, Delilah pulled the cup out of his view form he counter and, once again, drew a heart in the top of his drink with caramel. This time, she didn't slosh it as she handed it to him; she was feeling a little bolder today. "Do you need anything else? A donut, or a scone maybe?" she asked, motioning toward the pastry display she'd worked so hard on.

"You know what, I want one of those lemon bars," he said, pointing to a tray on the bottom shelf.

"No you don't," Delilah answered instinctively, the coffee snob inside her surfacing. Looking up to his confused face, she offered an explanation. "Lemon and Caramel Mocha don't really go well together," she told him, running through all of the coffee pairings she'd tasted in the past few months. "You need something either chocolaty, or caramel, or vanilla. Maybe a chocolate croissant?" she asked, pointing to the pastry next to his first choice.

"You're the coffee queen," he agreed. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, taking the croissant from her.

"A dollar twenty-five for the croissant, and don't worry about the coffee," she replied with a wink and a smile.

Shaking his head as he pulled two dollar bills out of his wallet he gave a little chuckle. "You know, I'm going to have to pay for my own coffee eventually."

"Well, now is not eventually," she answered, a flirty smirk on her lips. While she presented an almost cool demeanor, inside it felt as if there was a little man doing jumping jacks on her stomach. _She_ was flirting with _him_! With Adam _freaking_ Banks! And he was flirting back…maybe.

"Do you work every Saturday morning?" he asked, tearing a piece of his breakfast off with his fingers, then popping it into his mouth.

"Most," she nodded, cleaning up the mess she'd made. "I almost always open."

"Well, I almost always have practice on Saturday, so maybe I'll see you more often? I'll need you to make me that Caramel Mocha Whatever." Nodding, a smile spread across Delilah's lips. Did he just say he was going to see her every Saturday? With that, Adam began to back away from the counter, taking his leave of her. "Later, Delilah," he called as he backed out of the store door.

Once he was out of sight, the girl sank down to the floor behind the counter. _He_ knew _her_ name, and he'd practically made a standing date with her every Saturday morning. Well, maybe _date_ was the wrong word, but either way, she was going to be seeing more and more of him. She couldn't wait to tell Marianne.

* * *

Walking out to his car, Adam munched on the chocolate croissant she had talked him into buying; he had to admit, it tasted much better with the coffee than the lemon bar would have. Sliding behind the wheel of his '67 mustang, he gingerly set the coffee into the cup holder, then wadded the pastry bad into a ball and threw it into the back floorboard. Once he'd finished eating his breakfast, he began to drive back toward the school; hockey practice started in thirty minutes, and he had to be dressed out and on the ice at seven, sharp, or the whole team would be punished for it. 

Pulling out of the Koffey Haus drive, he caught sight of a flash of red hair in his rearview mirror. Okay, so maybe she wasn't as plain a he'd originally thought her, and maybe he had gone out of his way this morning simply hoping that she'd be working. What Charlie had said the night before really struck a chord with him: he'd been dating the same girl for few years; she just looked a little different from month to month. Maybe it was time for something different—a girl with a little more substance and a little less makeup?

Maybe not—maybe he just needed a break from females in general. Since breaking up with Amber, his grades had improved and so had his morale. Sure, he'd been a little more introspective lately, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was his senior year—he needed to be thinking more about the future and about who he was, that's what soul-searching is all about.

Turning onto the street, he glanced at the storefront as he headed back to school and couldn't help but hope she was looking. He imagined for a moment what they'd look like side-by-side. She was almost as tall as he was, and a little bigger around in some parts. She had thick thighs, but a shapely backside, and she was cute enough. Actually, he liked how the freckles on the bridge of her nose looked sort of like someone had sprinkled brown sugar across her face, and he _really_ liked that one freckle on her bottom lip…

"Snap out of it, Banks!" he commanded himself, shaking the image of her from his head. He didn't need to be thinking about this right now—he needed to be thinking about practice, getting in the zone. He needed to be committed to the team, and not day-dreaming about a girl he barely knew.


	3. First Date, Second Impression

**author's note:** I own nothing you recognize, along with some of the things you don't.

**Playlist:  
**_My Paper Heart_- The All-American Rejects  
_Warning Sign_- Coldplay  
_As Lovers Go- _Dashboard Confessional  
_The Tension and the Terror_- Straylight Run

* * *

Adam Banks waltzed into the Lecture Hall as the bell ceased ringing to begin fifth period. Eyes peeled, he scanned the theatre-like seating for a familiar head of red curls, and found it by itself on the left side of the front row. Apologizing charismatically to the teacher for being tardy, he made his way past her and slid into the seat next to Delilah. To be perfectly honest, he'd thought about her most of the weekend after their conversation Saturday morning. He thought about what his teammates had said, about the way she flirted with him, about how her cheeks flushed when she saw him, and about those _freckles_. He had a plan and he was about to put it into action.

Greeted by a rather alarmed look from the pale green eyes next to him, he offered her a smile and began to fish his notes out of his book bag. Once the lights were dimmed and the lecture started, he was ready to put his plan into action. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her and leaned in so that his lips were just inches from her ear. She smelled like fresh apples.

"Have you gone to a gallery yet this marking period?" he whispered, chuckling softly as she drew a sharp breath. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that.

"No," she whispered back, writing fervently in her spiral about the slide on the screen.

"Are you working tomorrow night?" Adam asked, copying her notes just as quickly as she wrote them. There was a moment of silence before she answered him.

"No." Had the lights been on, he would have been able to see her cheeks flushing, but he knew that even without witnessing it. Glancing up at the screen as the slide changed, he waited to speak for a moment; the teacher was currently boring holes in his head with her eyes because he'd been speaking during her lecture.

"You want to go see that local artist exhibition with me downtown?" There was a longer pause now, and the confident young man found himself a little anxious to hear her answer. He'd searched and searched for some sort of something to do with her around town, and when he found the online add for the art show, he had to snatch up the opportunity.

"I don't have a car," the girl whispered in tentative reply. Adam gave a little scoff at her answer—it didn't matter that she didn't have a car, he was planning on driving anyway; he was asking her out on a date after all. But maybe she didn't realize he was asking her out on a date…

"I'll drive," he assured her, the volume of his voice even lower as the teacher walked past them. "Where do you live?"

"I haven't even said 'yes' yet," was her saucy reply, saucy enough, apparently, to cause them to be shushed by not only the teacher, but the rest of the class. Abashedly, Adam watched as the girl scribbled the rest of her answer in the margin of her notebook: _I live on campus._ Adam assumed as much—he'd heard she was a scholarship kid, just like him, and as of their sophomore year, all full-scholarship students were required to live on campus, no matter how close to campus they lived.

_What a coincidence, so do I, _he scribbled next to her round cursive. _I'll pick you up outside the dorm at six, okay? It's totally casual._ He waited, a bit anxious for her reply. No matter how many times he asked a girl out, getting her to agree always made him a little nervous.

_Okay,_ she wrote, underlining the word. They were silent the rest of the class, and after it had ended she was out of the room and out of sight before he could say anything more to her.

* * *

Delilah sat anxiously on the Common Room couch, her thoughts filled with doubts. When she told Marianne of her good fortune concerning Mr. Banks, the other girl had shot her hopes down; saying he only wanted her to go because he knew she made good marks in the class and could help him with the required essay that went along with the required gallery visit. Certainly it wasn't a date, the brunette had assured her, certainly. Why was it so hard for the girl to just be happy for her friend?

Now, she was alone in the living space, the book she'd been unable to focus on sitting on her lap. She hoped she didn't look bad or too unrefined—he'd said casual, but one never knew. Paired with her standard blue jeans and black Chucks, she was wearing an orange, plaid shirt with green flowers embroidered in the fabric. It cinched in an empire waist and flared about her hips; its short puff sleeves and scoop neck were trimmed in white lace and green ribbon, and on her head she'd placed a matching green beanie, trimmed with a bow to one side. Her red hair had been tamed into braided pigtails, and once again she'd put makeup on. This was probably the hardest she'd tried to look good in months.

Biting her bottom lip, she watched as she time changed from five fifty-nine to six o'clock, and almost as if it were an answer to a prayer, she heard three quick knocks from the front door. Quickly, she threw the book in her purse and checked herself out in the mirror, then headed to the glass door. Pulling it open, she greeted Adam with a nervous smile.

"You know, you don't have to knock to come in the Common Room," she informed him, stepping out into the cool evening air. Relaxing slightly, she still couldn't shake the butterfly feeling in her stomach. Adam gave a soft chuckle at her greeting, giving Delilah the opportunity to appreciate his appearance: a blue western-cut shirt that enhanced the color of his eyes paired with distressed jeans and a pair of shoes that matched her own. _Good taste in shoes_, she noted to herself.

"You look nice," he acknowledged, nodding in the direction of the main school parking lot, where his car sat.

"You clean up pretty nice, yourself," she joked; blush certainly not lost on her pale cheeks. They walked in a comfortable silence to his car, where he took the part of the gentleman and opened her door first. Delilah thanked him and slid into her seat, then leaned across the front seat of the vintage beauty to unlock his door for him. When he got into the car, he asked her if she'd ever seen the movie A Bronx Tale. Perplexed, she'd responded that she hadn't and wanted to know why. He'd told her to forget that he asked.

What Adam didn't tell Delilah was that in the movie, one of the characters declares that the was to tell if a girl was dating material or not was to let her in the car first and then walk around and see if she unlocks your door for you—it meant she cared about you. Adam had watched her through the back window, and was happy to say that she had definitely passed.

They'd been driving for a few moments with nothing but the low hum of the engine and the soft whispers of the radio for sound, when Delilah blurted out possibly the stupidest thing she could have ever said: "Do you have to breathe out of your mouth, or is it just a habit?" Delilah asked, and instantaneously wished she could rewind time and stick a cork in her mouth. _Why_ had she said that out loud? Who was she, the breathing police? "I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, a pained smile on her lips. Mouth-breathing was certainly one of her many pet peeves, and she was almost more sorry to admit to herself that it had made him less attractive in her eyes. "That was rude. I just noticed it during class yesterday, and I noticed it now, and I have no internal filter." He girl was relieved to hear the now-familiar dins of Adam's laugh.

"No, no, it's okay—I know it's kind of distracting." Actually, he'd never really thought about his breathing before, although Charlie swore he snored. "I think it's a hockey thing," he explained, keeping his eyes peeled for stop signs as the rode through down town Minneapolis. "Pacing—in through your nose and out through your mouth—you go faster."

"Ahh." Delilah nodded her head in accordance, but deep down, she found that logic quite silly. Surely, planning the way you breathe took more effort than just doing what you were programmed to do. This, she was able to think without actually saying it out loud, thank God.

"Have you ever been to this gallery before?" Adam asked, pulling into a parking spot. They'd arrived in one piece, and it appeared to be a slow night for the gallery—his car was one of five parked outside.

"Nope," Delilah acquiesced, unbuckling her seatbelt. With alarming speed, he was out of the car and opening her door before she'd finished grabbing her purse from the floorboard of the front seat. Rather impressed, she stepped out of the vehicle only to wait for him to shut the car door so they could walk into the gallery together.

They entered the building only to find out that the four other cars belonged to some of the artist whose work was displayed in the show; their teacher was going to get a kick out of that. They floated through the galleries, room by room, examining the pieces that attracted their attention while paying little attention to the others. She led the way, with him never far behind, admiring her enthusiasm for the art. He'd gleaned from others that she was an art buff—he just didn't realize to what an extent her fascination extended.

"Oh, I like this one," he heard the girl murmur as he looked at an interesting piece of sculpture. Turning to face the painting she was observing, Adam found himself seriously under whelmed. The artist had painted a very nice Trompe L'oeil sidewalk on a long, narrow canvas. On top of that, they had drawn a hop-scotch board in what seemed to be chalk. The entire piece was splattered with red paint, and Adam thought it looked quite like a playground massacre, or something.

"It's kind of morbid," he said in a low voice, aiming it for her ears only. "Don't you think anyone could do that? Paint a sidewalk and throw paint on it?" He obviously didn't see it the same way she did. The girl turned to face him, smirking with one eye brow cocked in a quizzical fashion.

"You know," she began, holding his eyes with her own as she stepped away from him; Adam found himself enthralled, wanting to know. "Sometimes you have to look at the title to understand the full meaning of a piece." Stepping further away, she stopped in the archway that separated this gallery room from the rest; the light from the next room backlit her, creating a silhouette- like effect. "Sometimes the name is more important than the painting." With a wink, the redhead slipped through the arch and was out of Adam's sight. Leaning forward, he read the piece's title: _Sidewalk in Bosnia_. Just like that, he understood what had been so enthralling about the piece to his date. The title really did make the piece.

* * *

It was late when their night ended—they'd stayed in the gallery until closing time, marveling at all of the local work. After being asked to leave so they could close for the evening, Adam had driven to a 24-hour diner where they could get pancakes at ten at night. They'd enjoyed food of a questionable quality, but the conversation was great.

Now, the pair walked from Adam's car to the girls' dormitory, keeping a just-slightly-closer-than-normal distance between them. Their hands had bumped innocently on occasion, and once, Delilah was certain his had lingered against hers for longer than was required. As they neared the dormitory's front steps, an awkward silence ghosted in over them. They walked up the steps, him just behind her with his hand on the small of her back. It was an old-fashioned, polite gesture, but she couldn't help but feel slightly offended, as if he thought she couldn't make it up the steps on her own. Damn the feminist movement! Rolling her eyes, she silently instructed herself to enjoy every moment of contact she had with him—she'd been waiting for this for a while.

When she reached the top step, Adam stopped moving. When she stood flat on the porch, and he stood one step below her, her eyes were almost level with his. In the quiet, Delilah leaned against one of the great porch pillars, watching him for the next move—she wasn't used to doing this sort of thing. "So," they both began at once after what seemed like far-too long a conversation gap. After a few seconds of awkward niceties, it was decided that Adam would speak.

"Thanks for coming with me," he offered, his face tilted slightly forward. "I wouldn't have known what to do if I'd gone by myself," he conceded, sliding one hand into his pocket; his statement caused the girl to laugh and protest, but he refused to believe her. "No, seriously, you were the best tour guide a guy could hope for." Ending his statement, he gave her another one of those dazzling smiles that caused her brain to go all wacky. The reaction was accentuated by the hand he placed on her arm.

"Thanks for inviting me," she replied, her voice a little higher than normal. "It-it was really fun." It was also really hard to concentrate while he rubbed gentle circles on the top of her arm with his thumb. In order to keep herself composed, she had to look away from those sparkling baby blues, but not for long. When she looked back at Adam, his face was closer to hers than it had been before, his eyes were almost closed, and his mouth was poised to kiss. If Delilah's heart had wings, it would have flown from her chest at such a speed that it could break the sound barrier.

It was really happening. He was actually going to kiss her on the dormitory stoop, just like she'd always imagined. Delilah watched anxiously with half-lidded eyes as lips drew closer to hers; they'd be kissing 5…4…3…2… and for some reason, she couldn't let that happen. At the moment when they're lips should have touched, she turned her face so that his mouth brushed against her cheek. The little ball of hormones in her gut was screaming for her to kiss him on the mouth, but the more mature side of her inner self was congratulating her—a girl _had_ to have standards, and really, if she let him kiss her on the first date, what would he think he could do on the second date? What would she _let_ him do?

Smiling, slightly embarrassed, she took a step backward towards the dorm door, setting up a more comfortable space between them. His hand, out of shock she assumed, had released its gentle grip on her shoulder, hanging in the air where she'd once been. "Goodnight, Adam," Delilah said with a calm smile. "I had a great time." Extending her hand forward, she caught his in a firm shake, and then, with a wink disappeared inside the building.

Once far enough inside the building that she was certain he couldn't see her, she let out a mortified yelp. Flopping onto the Common Room couch, she pulled the beanie she was wearing down so it covered her face. Groaning, she shook her head back and forth, kicking her feet against the arm of the sofa. _A handshake?_ She just had the perfect opportunity to snog the boy she'd been lusting over for three years, and she'd settled for a kiss on the cheek and a _handshake_. She didn't deserve to live, to breathe, and to see him again. She didn't deserve a second chance at that kiss, which was lucky because she probably wouldn't get one. She was a failure to all girlkind.

* * *

Adam stood motionless on the step for moments after she left him, his hand still poised in the down-swing of a shake. He could honestly say that _that_ had never happened to him before. Charlie would certainly get a kick out of it—Wait, no! What was he thinking? Charlie couldn't know about this! He'd actually received a _handshake _instead of a goodnight kiss. Delilah was just full of surprises, but then again, what did he expect? She was nothing like anyone he'd dated before. Smirking almost-dreamily, he ran his index finger across his bottom lip; he could still feel the smoothness of her cheek there. Shaking his head, he ran down the steps of the dormitory porch and set off on the cross-campus trek to the boys' dorms.

Scratching his head, much like one confused was likely to do, the boy took long, slow steps on the sidewalk, replaying the night's events in his head. The air smelled of damp concrete and cut grass; the night air was slightly chilly. Had Delilah shaken his hand because she didn't want to kiss him? His thought about the _mouth-breather_ comment she'd made in the car—had that made he not want to kiss him? Surely not-- it hadn't turned anyone off before now.

Maybe, he pondered, nearing the boys' dorms, maybe she was once of those rare creatures that conducted herself like a lady? Maybe she was old-fashioned and didn't kiss on first dates? The thought was a little more comforting than the idea of someone being completely repulsed at the thought of kissing him; however, the second thought didn't disappear completely from his mind. Chuckling, he jogged up the steps of the boys' dormitory porch and headed up to his room. If he was lucky, Charlie would be out with Linda still, or he would be asleep. If the first, Adam could be "asleep" by the time Charlie returned; if the second, he could not tell his roommate about his date out of concern for his lack of sleep lately—he would just be playing the part of a good friend. Either way, he didn't half to regale Conway with the details of what _not_ kissing Delilah was like.


	4. Frustration and Distraction

**author's note:** I own nothing you recognize, and some of the things you don't. If you read, it would be cool if you wanted to leave a review. I'm a fan of constructive criticism.

**Playlist:**

_Star Mile-_ Joshua Radin  
_Champagne Wishes- _Trances Arc  
_Prophecy-_ Remy Zero  
_Hallelujah_- Leonard Cohen

* * *

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" Charlie asked while he dressed for school. Adam had come home to an empty room and quickly feigned sleep. He'd still been perplexed by Delilah's refusal of his kiss, and was less than eager to speak of it. 

"What do you want to know?" Adam asked, shaving at the mirror and sink, already omitting the details in his mind. Charlie was his best friend—had been since they were very young—but he had never been one to confide everything in someone.

"Everything." Adam laughed, narrowly avoiding a cut from the razor in his hand. Such a Charlie answer.

"We went to the gallery, and then had dinner at the diner your mom used to work at." Adam cleaned off the razor then put it back in his shaving kit. "I walked her back to the dorm, and that was it." He walked over to the closet and began to dress, paying a bit more attention to the clothes he would wear that day than he normally did. "It was nice."

"Did you kiss her?" Once again, just like Charlie. Smirking, Adam ignored the question, and pulled on a pair of jeans. "Well?" Charlie persisted. He could really be annoying when Adam didn't want to tell him something.

"I'm not telling," he replied, pulling a sweater over his head. Adam picked up his book bag and slipped his feet into some Vans as he made his way out the door, Charlie protesting as he went. Adam smirked as he walked down the hallway; it was nice to have a secret that somebody wanted to know, although, he wasn't really willing to give the answer. But the details he'd left out of his story—that was the best part:

_They sat in the little diner at a dimly lit booth. They diner was practically empty, and they were certainly the youngest patrons. The rest of the crowd had been truck drivers, stopping for a late night supper and some coffee to keep them awake on the road. _

"_Can I get you two something to drink?" an older woman in a yellow uniform asked them. Her name tag read Betty Anne. The two had looked awkwardly at each other, hesitating and hoping the other would order first. Adam was of the school of thought that ladies went first; perhaps Delilah was just timid and didn't want to look too straight-forward? _

"_You go ahead," Adam told her, smiling brightly. He couldn't keep from staring at her green eyes as they read over the menu. _

"_What brand of hot tea do you serve?" She asked timidly, her voice smaller than it normally was._

"_Twinnings," Betty Anne replied with an exhausted smile, her pen poised for writing on the order tablet she held._

"_I'll take Earl Grey, then," Delilah replied with a smile. "Can I have some cream, too?"_

"_Sure thing, Sweetie. What can I get you, Hun?" she asked, turning her attention to Adam._

"_I'll have coffee," he replied, his gaze still focused on Delilah; this time he was looking at her smile, rather than her eyes. _

"_Alrighty." Betty Anne took her leave, a knowing smile on her lips. As soon as she was gone, Adam spoke, folding his hands on the table in front of him. _

"_Bit of a tea snob, are we?" he asked in a purely joking manner, sending a wink in her direction. The look on her face was priceless, as she was clearly stunned for a moment. _

"_You have obviously never had a bad cup of hot tea," Delilah explained, catching on to his joking manner. "And who are you to talk?" she asked, turning the joke on him, "I seem to recall you saying that you aren't much of a coffee drinker?" The girl waited with a smirk on her lips and one eyebrow cocked, for his reply. _

"_I'm trying something new." The small talk persisted at a friendly level as they waited for Betty Anne to return with their drinks. When she did, they paused in conversation for a moment to dress up their drinks. Adam watched, noting that Delilah put three sugars and three creams into her tea; she had a sweet tooth. He prepared his coffee with only one sugar and a small amount of cream. Tentatively, he rose the cup to his lips and took a sip, only to let the liquid fall back into his cup. "I think _this _is why I'm not much of a coffee drinker." The two laughed, and Delilah shot him an I-told-you-so look. _

_They placed their dinner orders with Betty Anne, and Adam made sure to ask for a soda when she had a chance to bring it to him. In what seemed like only a few moments, their dinner was placed before them and they set to eating._

"_So, do you have any college plans?" Adam asked in between bites of scrambled egg. Delilah held up one finger as she swallowed her mouthful of strawberry-crepe, then took a drink of tea. _

_"I want to go to The Art Institute at Minneapolis—stay close to home, and get a degree in Art History. I want to be a curator. But that's only _if_ I get a scholarship." She looked a little embarrassed after saying so much. "Sorry," she apologized, biting her bottom lip. _

"_No, no," Adam quickly spoke up, not wanting her to apologize—he actually wanted to find out more. "Keep talking," he assured her. "You're on scholarship at Eden Hall too, right? You've done it once. It can't be much harder to get another one." Delilah laughed softly at his response, as if he couldn't understand what that meant._

"_Yeah, but it's a lot easier to get a full ride into a high school than it is to get one for an Art School." Looking down at her plate, she pushed some of the strawberry jam around with her fork. "That's why I'm working—to save up money incase I don't get enough scholarship money." She looked up to Adam with an apologetic smile and a shrug—what else could she do?_

"_I'm sure you'll get everything taken care of," Adam told her. In all honesty, her situation was kind of a wake-up call to him. College was a given for him; he'd had scouts after him since freshman year. Delilah already knew what she wanted to do after school. All he knew was that he was _going. _She couldn't guarantee that._

"_What are you doing after graduation?" Delilah asked, forkful of crepe poised just inches from her mouth. After speaking, she took the bite, quick to wipe her mouth with the corner of her napkin. She missed a bit of jam on the corner of her bottom lip; Adam smirked and reached across the table with his napkin to get it—Delilah was taken aback and leaned away from him at first. Blushing, Adam stuttered; he didn't mean to make her uneasy._

"_You--You've got something," he pointed to the spot on his own mouth, then dabbed the napkin against her lip, his fingers lingering a bit longer than required. Delilah mumbled her thanks, then he pulled his hand back. "I'm thinking about going to UM, staying here in Minneapolis, too." He hesitated before offering the next bit of information. "If I sign with them in the spring, I'll get a full ride." He felt sort of bad about the confession—she had to work for her scholarship, and his had been granted to him because of a lucky skill. Sure, he'd had to work to become the player he was, but it was something fun—a game. Even if he wasn't offered a scholarship, his parents would be able to pay for his tuition. She didn't seem to have that luxury. She knew what to do, but didn't know how to get ther; he was going, but didn't know what to do after. What a pair they made._

"_That's awesome," Delilah congratulated, a broad smile revealing the gap between her two front teeth. "You deserve it," she continued, jealousy of his good fortune nowhere to be found in her voice. "You're a great player."_

_"Well, Dad's excited. It's his Alma Mater, and my brother goes there, too." Adam would be another in the long line of Banks to attend, but what would he do when he graduated?_

"_Isn't that a mainly medical and research school?" Delilah asked, genuinely interested. "Are you looking at going into a medical career?" She sipped her tea, waiting for his reply._

"_I guess. I'm pretty good at math and science," he admitted abashedly. "You know what? I actually have no clue what I want to do when I grow up." Delilah let out a trill of laughter at his statement, setting her cup down on the table so not o spill._

"If, _you grow up," she pointed out. "I still hold the belief that one day Peter Pan will whisk me away to Neverland and I'll stay eighteen forever." The girl chuckled at the thought. "When he comes, I'll be sure to stop by and pick you up."_

"_Thanks," Adam replied. "That sounds great."_

"_So your dad expects a lot of you?" Delilah asked innocently, picking at her food. _

"_Yeah, I guess," Adam replied, dancing around the subject. "I've got a lot to live up to, you know? My brother's great at hockey, and he made great grades, so Dad compares me to him a lot. I don't think he realizes it though". Adam paused for a moment, taking a drink of his soda. "He pushes me because he loves me though," he pointed out, secure in the belief. "If he didn't love me, he wouldn't care."_

The night's conversation continued much on the same route, covering their plans for the future and the ghosts of their pasts. Adam found he had never spoken so candidly with someone, ever. He didn't talk about his home life or his future insecurities with just anyone; it was something in Delilah's demeanor that made him comfortable.

The conversation matter lightened toward the end of the night, turning to injuries. Delilah spoke about the one that had ended any possibilities of a dance career for her. Adam couldn't help but notice the remorse in her voice as she spoke of the dislocation. Adam told her about the time he hurt his wrist and almost didn't get to play in the Junior Goodwill Games. They got into a contest to see who could tell the most gruesome injury story; Delilah won with the time a girl tied her ballet shoes too tight and cut her Achilles tendon. It gave Adam the willies just to think of the mental image she'd created for him.

It was cute, how at the end of the date she'd offered to pay for her half of the bill—like she still didn't get that he'd asked her out on a date. He reassured her that it was, of course, refusing to let the waitress give her a separate bill. There was a sort of innocence in Delilah that he hadn't seen in a long time, and it was extremely alluring to him.

Why hadn't he recounted all of these details to Charlie? Why hadn't he explained what he saw in the girl? Adam couldn't pinpoint the reason, but he knew it had something to do with the fact that she was_ his_ date. Their conversations were _his_ to remember. He felt a sort of ownership over the budding relationship, like it was his secret to keep. His secret to smile over. Sure, he'd tell the world later if things went well, but right now, he would keep it to himself.

* * *

Marianne had a way with words—specifically with saying things that made Delilah uneasy. Sitting alone in Art History with no sign of Adam, the previous evening's conversation rang in her ears: 

"_Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" the brunette had commented after Delilah recounted the evening's events for her. "He just wanted to use you. A little kissing, maybe a little more." The girl didn't even look up from the trashy romance novel she was reading. "It's just like him, you know, to use you like that. That's his way." Delilah felt her cheeks grow hot with anger. Who was Marianne to say such things about Adam? She didn't even know him! She hadn't been there that night. She hadn't been there for the trek through the gallery, for the conversation at dinner. She knew _nothing_ about Adam. Crossing her arms, Delilah sat down on her bed in a huff. _

"_Do you really think that?" Delilah asked, her sweet little mouth held in an offended sneer. Only then did Marianne bother putting the book down to devote all of her attention to her "friend." It looked as if she were almost smiling._

"_Come on, darling. You're not his type, there was absolutely no reason for him to ask you out a head of time, and he tried to kiss you on the first date without any warning. What else do you think it could be?" Sighing, as if it were of great difficulty for her to say this, she rose and walked to where Delilah sat. Placing her arm over the girl's shoulders, Marianne pulled her tight, cooing like a mother fretting over her baby. "Dearest, don't let him get you down, but honestly, what did you expect? He probably just wanted to try something new—something a little rounder than usual." Delilah didn't comment, didn't hug her friend back, didn't do anything. She was afraid if she spoke, she'd end up doing something rash, and she really didn't want to do anything rash. Especially if Marianne ended up being right. "I can't blame him, either—you're cute and sweet. He probably felt bad when he realized you weren't they type to do that sort of thing."_

"_I'm going to bed," Delilah announced, rising out of the other girl's uncomfortable grasp. Was it so hard for Marianne to just be happy for her, for once?_

Even though she'd resigned herself to believing Marianne's words were simply those of a green-eyed monster, they haunted her. Had she really just been something for him to play with? Was she like a cheap toy that didn't do what he'd wanted, so she'd been tossed aside? Surely not. The girl's green eyes found their way to the Lecture Hall door every few moments, waiting to see him slip in to class.

"Delilah," Mrs. Hawthorne called on her. "Why don't you tell us what Titian's _Venus of Urbino _and Ingres' _Grande Odalisque_ have in common?" Wide-eyed, Delilah looked to the screen and back to the messy, shallow notes she'd been taking. After some time of flipping through her notebook, she resigned herself to guessing.

"They're both prostitutes?" she ventured, uncertainty clear in her voice.

"Good guess," Mrs. Hawthorne replied with a smirk. "Anything else?" Delilah went through the things she remembered about the Titian painting, searching for a life raft. The _Venus of Urbino_ was a high-class prostitute, and the mistress of a Duke. _Grande_ meant _big_ in French. They were both suggestively posed, in the nude.

"Umm… they're really famous prostitutes?" She ventured again, waiting for a biding remark from her instructor. The class let out a low giggle.

"Once again, nice guess. Try paying a little more attention, Delilah, okay?" the woman instructed, switching out the slides. As the teacher began to tell them about the next painting, Delilah caught sight of a familiar figure slinking in through the side door. He sat down in the same row she was in, but on completely different sides of the room. Trying to play the oblivious card, Delilah fervently took to taking notes on the painting on screen. It was hard, pretending to be unaware of the sensation of a certain someone's eyes trained on her. Unable to keep up her façade of indifference any longer, the redhead glanced in the boy's direction and was greeted by a smile, brilliant even in the dark. She couldn't help but smile back across the room, offering him a slight wave of her hand. He winked, and Delilah thought she'd swoon right then. Turning back to the screen, class continued much in this fashion: a few notes, a series of winks and smirks, and back to notes once more.

"Hey," he whispered so low that Delilah almost didn't hear him. He waved a note back and forth to catch her attention, and then sent it sailing down the long curved table that separated them. It stopped short; Delilah had to reach to snatch it up. _I need to talk to you after class_, it read. Smiling with excitement, bottom lip caught between her teeth, she looked up from the note and nodded.

"Okay," she mouthed, instantly feeling the little butterflies that lived in her stomach wake up. He needed to talk to her after class! Marianne had been bluffing, completely bluffing! She was more to him than just a plaything; more than just a bit of amusement. She was barely able to concentrate the rest of the class period.

The bell sounded to end class while Mrs. Hawthorne called out their homework assignment. "Mr. Banks," she added, "I need you to come see me at my desk. Don't think I didn't see you come in through the side door." Delilah felt the smile on her face droop a little bit as she looked to Adam. He offered her a shrug, and headed up the stairs to the top of the lecture room.

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" he called to her as she made her way out of the classroom. Disappointed, Delilah waited outside the room for as long as she could without being tardy for her next class. She couldn't wait to talk to him, and really, like she'd be able to concentrate on _Pride & Prejudice_ with the prospect of speaking with Adam haunting her thoughts.

* * *

Normally the ice was a sort of sanctuary to Adam—a place where nothing else in his world mattered. Not today. When Adam skated, he went into a zone where hockey was all he could focus on—no drama, no gossip, no nothing. Just the game—just making himself a better skater and a better player, just working together as a team. It seemed that today, Banks had lost his map to the "zone" and he was wandering around aimlessly. His skating was off; he missed all of the few shots that he took. He wasn't up to speed during drills, and the idea of cohesive teamwork seemed lost on him. His mind was clearly elsewhere. 

Delilah was just so _different_ from the girls he normally dated. She had substance, she had drive, and she knew where she was going in life. She seemed so interested him, and she said she had a great time, so why hadn't she let him kiss her? Why had she given him the cheek? If only he'd been able to talk to her after fifth period.

"What the fuck, man?" Ken screamed, waking Adam from his daydream-ish thoughts. They were in the middle of 3-man drills, and the puck had just sailed right between Banks legs, only to bounce off of the boards. Adam looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler; he'd been completely unaware of what was going on. As the coach's whistle sounded, every Eden Hall Duck turned their attention to centre ice.

"Wu, watch the language. This is a High School hockey team so let's keep it PG. If you wanna curse like that on the ice, you're gonna have to make it into the Nationals." A few bolder members of the team laughed. "Alright, circle up!" Coach Orion called, waving his gloved hand at the group. He was clearly not amused by Adam's bout of what could only be called puppy love. "Banks has apparently forgotten how to play hockey," he announced to the group, skating toward the aforementioned player.

"That's an understatement," Louis mumbled, soliciting a few chuckles form the rest of the team. Adam just rolled his eyes, not used to this sort of attention from the coach. Everyone had their off days, but he'd never had one this bad before.

"Yes, Mendoza, you could say that," Orion agreed, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. "This is very distressing to me," he continued, his booming voice echoing against the walls of the practically empty rink. "So," he clamped his hands on Adam's shoulders with a little more force than was required, "you are going to skate lines until Banks remembers how to play." A unanimous groan shattered the cold rink air as the coach began to skate backwards towards the boards. Frozen by surprise, the blonde boy stood still as the rest of the team skated toward the end of the rink, "accidentally" bumping into him as they went. He'd never gotten the team punished before—this was a whole new feeling to him. "Come on, Banks," Coach Orion called, motioning toward the end of the rink where the others had gathered, "The faster you remember how to play, the faster we can get back to a normal practice." Coach smiled, almost sadistically as Adam finally began to skate towards the group; he was doing it to make them better, of course, but it still seemed like the man had a little of Captain Blood in him.

"Sorry," he mouthed wordlessly as he met up with the rest of the team, finding his place on the line next to Charlie and Guy.

"Alright," Coach called from the boards, whistle poised in his hand and ready to blow. "You know the drill: Blue line back, red line back. You start when I blow the whistle. You stop when I decide Banks can play again." Adam could feel the cold stares of his teammates as they readied themselves on the line. With the shrill ring of the coach's whistle the group took off, and sadly yet unsurprisingly, Adam was at the back of the pack. With every set they completed, the team grew more tired and their morale sank. However, as the team grew more and more exasperated, Adam rose in the pack. Finally, when it seemed the whistle blowing would never stop, Adam was close to the front—just behind Louis, where he normally was. The team waited with anticipation for the whistle to scream again, but it didn't.

"Nice job, Team," Orion yelled, skating to the end where his players were about to collapse. "You taught Banks how to play again. Practice is over." A collective sigh issued from the team as a few fell to their knees. Someone made a retching sound as they headed to the boards, but Adam didn't look to find out who it came from; he has a sympathetic stomach and was likely to start up himself. Without warning, Adam felt a sharp pang in his arm as someone skated into him.

"Where the hell are you man?" Charlie asked in a hushed tone, his voice lowered so that only Adam could hear. The pang had apparently come from Charlie's un-gloved fist making contact with his body. "You look like you've never been on the ice before!"

"I'm sorry, man. I've just had something on my mind," Adam apologized, pulling his helmet off.

"Well, you better get it off your mind before next practice," the captain instructed, skating off of the ice in a huff. Charlie had a point—Adam didn't have the "A" on the front of his jersey for no reason. He was there to assist Charlie, to be a leader, to be an example. How could he be an example if he couldn't think about the game? He had to do something, or he else he'd be sitting out the rest of the season, and his team would hate him. He had to go and tie up his loose ends with Delilah.

* * *

_I've heard there was a secret chord  
That David played, and it pleased the Lord  
But you don't really care for music, do you?_

As the familiar notes of an old Leonard Cohen song began to play in the café, Delilah knelt in front of an étagère, unpacking a large brown box. It was filled with small brown boxes which were all filled with Styrofoam-packed coffee mugs that were to go on display. As she unwrapped the merchandise, she felt as if the mess she were making would never end; bits of Styrofoam and cardboard covered the floor around her, and the vast stack of empty boxes was almost foreboding in nature. Having filled the top shelf with ceramic cups, she'd moved on to the next one. Standing, she began to place an armful of travel mugs on display, singing along with the radio as she did.

_It goes like this  
The fourth, the fifth  
The minor fall, the major lift_

The café was empty; the slow part of the evening had set in, and she and Elaine were the only employees working; Elaine was busy taking inventory to place a supply order in the back. Hearing the door open, Delilah finished placing the mugs she held on the shelf.

"Hello," she called over her shoulder, dusting her hands off on the front of her apron. Turning, she took a single step towards the counter. "Welcome to the Koff—"her words were stopped mid-sentence as she felt a hand wrap around her waist, another finding it's way to her neck. Before she realized what was happening, it was too late: yes, Adam Banks was kissing her in the middle of the café, and yes, those were his fingers tangling in her hair.

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

Delilah's lack of experience in this area wasn't a problem—as if by instinct, her lips worked against his. One hand settled against his chest, the other on his shoulder. Her mind was spinning, hurtling. It was as if time had stopped the moment he captured her lips with his own and with it all thought.

_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

After what seemed like forever, she felt Adam's grip on her release and his reluctant lips pull away. Instinctively, she raised one hand to her mouth where she dreamily ran her index finger over her bottom lip, remembering the phantom sensation of his skin touching hers. Her mind completely muddled, Delilah watched as Adam stood with his hands in his pockets, awkwardly shuffling his feet; he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Desperately, the girl wanted to close the space between them again—wanted to kiss him again, wanted to feel those lips against hers for real, rather than just the fleeting sensation of remembrance. An almost-awkward silence setting in, Delilah caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and growing bold in her slight confusion, began to step towards him.

_Maybe I've been here before  
I know this room; I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you_

"Hello! Is Delilah helping you with everything you need?" The sickeningly-sweet sound of Elaine's voice broke the music, shattering the moment. Neither of them spoke; Delilah watched as Adam looked, almost nervously, from herself to Elaine and back again. "Can I fix you something to drink?" the woman persisted. Delilah felt as if she could actually have literally strangled Elaine to death and feel no ounce of remorse—she just couldn't understand what a moment like that meant to the girl.

"No, thank you," Adam finally answered. "I was just leaving," he said, turning his attention completely on the older woman. Smiling charismatically, he began to back away towards the café door. "You should really think about giving Delilah a raise—she's great." Waving, he winked at the redhead, and then walked out of the café. Delilah thought her heart was actually going to collapse in her chest as she knelt back to the floor. Her hands were shaking and her knees were weak—she was afraid she'd drop a mug if she tried to put it on the shelf.

_It's not a cry you can hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

"Are you going to be done unpacking that box soon, Delilah? I've got a whole other one that needs to be done back in storage." Elaine waited for a response, eyelids fluttering.

"I'm all over it, Elaine," Delilah replied, attempting to unpack the coffee mugs once more. She couldn't concentrate on the task at hand though—all she could think about was Adam's kiss. It was something straight out of a movie; things like that didn't happen to her—they didn't happen to anyone.

_Hallelujah

* * *

_

Adam made his way to his car, a newfound spring in his step. Kissing Delilah had been much better than he could have imagined, and now that he'd actually done it, maybe he could concentrate on something else. Maybe not; now that he'd kissed Delilah once, he couldn't help but think about when he'd get to do it again. Smirking, he opened the car door and slid into his seat. _Delilah._

Sighing, he thought of her words back at the Art Gallery_: Sometimes the name is more important than the painting_. Did that hold true for people, as well? Did their names predict where they would go? Biblically speaking, his name was that of a man who was tempted. Delilah was the name of a woman who brought about the downfall of the man who loved her. Perhaps Delilah would tempt Adam to his downfall? He'd go willingly.


	5. Liquor is Quicker

**A/N:** Hey guys! Thanks for bearing with me! I'm sorry it's been so very long. This last six weeks at school was killer and basically sucked my life dry. I graduated yesterday, so I'm finally back to writing. I'm sorry it's been so long, and I don't intend to let that much time to lapse between posts again!

Oh, and I own nothing you recognize, and some of the things you don't. If you read, it would be cool if you wanted to leave a review. I'm a fan of constructive criticism.

**Playlist:**

_Burn This City_- Cartel

_Let's Get Fucked Up and Die- _Motion City Soundtrack

_Dead On Arrival-_ Fall Out Boy

_Dance Inside- The All_-American Rejects

* * *

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since Adam Banks had swooped in on his white horse and kissed every thought out of her pretty little head, and she still couldn't get over it. Delilah grinned, the last fourteen days playing over in her head as she sat in the stacks of the school library, a book resting open on her crossed legs; her back leaned against a shelf full of books; who needed tables anyway? One curly, red tendril was twirled about her fingers as she stared into the book on her lap, not actually reading the words on the page before her.

After he left her in the little coffee shop, she'd been practically useless. All of her thoughts centered on the sensation of his lips against hers. She wondered if he'd ever do it again, and worried that he wouldn't. Her fears were cleared away, however, when he sat next to her in Art History again, and kissed her suddenly in the hallway after class. The next thirteen days had been spent with little time apart. It was crazy and sudden; they had become an item over night and even if Delilah wanted to stop it, she probably couldn't have. When she was at work, he stopped by to see her; when he had practice, he met up with her after. They went to a few art galleries in the cities nearby; most of the dates they went on required about thirty minutes of driving to get there. Logically, they should have been so sick of one another, but Delilah was content and from what she could tell, he was too.

Currently, her trip into the La-la Land of teenage romance was interrupted, because all she could think about while she attempted to read about Gothic Architecture was a conversation she'd had with her roommate the evening before:

"_Going out again tonight?" Marianne had asked, sounding bored as she filed her nails. The petite girl had just walked in and plopped down on her beanbag chair before tending to her hands. Delilah, almost ready for her date with Adam that evening, nodded and then returned to her mascara. "We're going to this little Mexican restaurant in Edina. He said he used to go there all of the time when he was a kid." Delilah was excited, and one could hear it in her voice. Adam was sharing a memory with her—something from his past-- and she thought that was pretty cool. And Mexican food was her favorite._

"_Hmm, that's interesting." Marianne observed with a sigh, setting the nail file on her bedside table. The girl hesitated, as if she were about to say something she didn't want to._

"_What?" Delilah asked, confused. She'd lived with the girl long enough to know when something wasn't right. _

"_Don't you think it's kind of funny that he never takes you to do anything with his friends?" Marianne asked, rising from her chair and walking toward her roommate. Delilah used her fingers to style her hair into place, then adjusted her clothes in the mirror one last time. With each word Marianne spoke, Delilah's mood dimmed. _

"_What do you mean?" the redhead asked her friend's reflection in the mirror. _

"_Nothing. I mean… "Marianne crossed her hands in front of her torso; the way she grasped for words seemed almost staged. "He never takes you out around town, where people can see you together, and it just makes me wonder that maybe he doesn't want his friends to know." The girl placed a thin hand on Delilah's shoulder and squeezed, as if offering her friendly advice._

"_Like he's embarrassed to be seen with me or something?" Her lips formed a thin line as she waited for a reply; her eyes seemed to cloud over with unease. _

"_You know what? Forget I said that." Marianne walked back to her chair and sat down. "Just go and have fun." The girl picked up a magazine and began to flip through it, as if the case was closed, but Delilah couldn't forget._

"_Why would you say something like that to me?" she asked, turning to face her roommate, green eyes angry. _

"_I'm just looking out for you. That's what friends do." Marianne shrugged, a half-smile on her lips. _

"_That's not looking out for me," Delilah exclaimed, her voice growing louder as she reached for her purse, "that's making me suspicious."_

"_Whatever," Marianne replied coolly rolling her eyes, seemingly content with the reaction she'd elicited. Shaking her head, Delilah stormed to the door, but stopped with her hand poised on the knob. _

"_Can't you just be happy for me for once?" Waiting only a moment more, _

_she flung the wooden door open and sped out, her hands baled in fists as she headed to the lobby._

"Hey, Dollface," she heard a familiar voice whisper as he slid to the ground next to her. His lips brushed against her cheek as she replied, a behavior that elicited a rosy blush from the girl. "What are you up to?"

"Reading," the girl replied, nodding to her book, a look of utter sobriety on her face. The pretense only held up for a moment before she rolled her eyes and gave a half-smile. Somehow, she didn't feel a "Captain Obvious" crack was appropriate.

"Cathedrals… fun," he mocked, peering over her shoulder at the book on her lap. Leaning forward, he pointed to a flying buttress with a look of surprise. "Do you see him?" he questioned. "There he is again!" he exclaimed, moving his finger to another picture on the page. "And there!" He was pointing to a picture on the adjacent page now.

"Is your crazy contagious?" Delilah asked as Adam began to laugh; clearly, she did not get the joke. "What is so exciting and amusing about Notre Dame?" Adam chuckled, pointing to a shadowed Gargoyle.

"It's Quasimodo!" Delilah couldn't help but laugh at the silliness. Sometimes she just needed to step back and laugh at life. Adam was good at laughing at life.

"Why don't we ever hang out with your friends?" the redhead asked with a little less tact than she would have liked. That wasn't what she was supposed to say! She was supposed to ask him where the dancing-gypsy-stripper-girl was, and while they were at it, where was the hot captain of the guard? But no, no, her subconscious had the last laugh. The seeds of self-doubt that Marianne had planted had blossomed into full-fledged Venus flytraps and were gobbling up all other trains of conversation. Ugh.

"What do you mean?" he asked with a slight laugh, his brows knit while a confused smile settled onto his lips. She knew his friends, and Adam really couldn't understand how anyone would want to hang out with some of them unless they were forced to. They were great, yeah, but sometimes it was pretty hard work to remember that he loved them for one reason or another.

"It just… well, I really don't have any friends that you don't know." Delilah was blushing now, and fully regretting that she'd brought the subject up. "I mean, you know everyone I hang out with from work, and you've met Marianne, and nobody really wants to hang out with her…" she was fumbling for words, forcing awkward ones over her desire to ask if he was embarrassed of being seen with her. "I'd just like to get to know some of your friends." As soon as the words left her mouth, the fear that maybe he wasn't as involved in their relationship as she was set in. Maybe he didn't want to introduce her because he didn't intend to keep her around. Or maybe Marianne had succeeded in making her feel totally self-conscious again.

"Funny you should bring it up," he replied with complete ease as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "Charlie is having a party tonight and I was going to see if you wanted to go. What do you think?" As he ended his offer, the bell rang, ending Delilah's study block and God knows what class Adam was in; he was rarely in class as it was, there was little way to keep track of where he belonged. Standing up, he smoothed the front of his trousers, and then extended his hand in offer to help her up. She took it.

"I think that sounds like fun," she answered as he bent over to pick her book bag. As he handed it to her, Delilah frowned; chivalry was fine to an extent, nice even, but after a certain point she just felt useless. Leaning in, the boy placed a quick peck on the corner of her mouth, then turned to head to his last class of the day; must have been hockey.

"I'll pick you up at eight," he called over his shoulder.

* * *

Sitting on the couch, Adam busied himself by twiddling his thumbs and less-than-patiently tapping his feet. It wasn't like this was their first date or anything. No, but this was the first date that his friends would be privy to, and a little bit of him was hoping that maybe, _just maybe_, something big might happen tonight. Palmela Handerson could only keep him happy for so long…

"Hey," a familiar voice called to him from the general vicinity of the staircase. Looking up, his ears perking up like a puppy's, a brilliant smile spread across his face.

"You look gorgeous," was his reply as he rose from his seat and walked toward Delilah. And she did. A navy blue sundress sprinkled with red flowers hugged her upper curves, then at the waist flared in to a full circle skirt that ended mid-calf. So feminine. He loved it when girls wore dresses like that, and the bows on her little red ballet flats just about did him in right there. Her hair was down, with a blue headband keeping it back from her face, revealing the sprinkling of brown-sugar freckles across her nose. Meeting her at the stair landing, Adam caught her small hand in his larger one, and pulled her in for a quick kiss, only to be admonished by a voice coming from the front desk.

"Young man, that behavior will not be tolerated inside the dormitory common room, no matter how nice your date looks," the older woman called, a smile crinkling the skin below her eyes. Adam's face flushed red at the circumstance, but he quickly recovered himself, laughing slightly at the thought of how the dorm mother would react to what other behavior's he'd exhibited inside the dorm rooms themselves.

"You don't look half bad, yourself," Delilah replied, placing a quick peck on his cheek before winking at the woman.

* * *

The party was fun. The group was compiled mostly of the hockey team and their various dates with a few others thrown in for fun. Delilah knew everyone but spoke to few, and spent most of the night close to Adam, who kept his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Though they'd been at Charlie's house for sometime, Delilah was still nursing her first beer of the night, which was in fact her first beer ever. Adam had handed her the red plastic cup without a second thought, and he (a more experienced drinker) was well past his third beer but held his alcohol well.

Currently, the couple stood near the fireplace, looking at pictures of Charlie's family. His step-father was in Colorado on business for the week, and he'd taken Charlie's mother and three year old little brother with him. Adam was busy telling Delilah about the first time he met Charlie. Delilah couldn't help but wonder as she looked at the tiny face of ten year-old Charlie how the two had ended up such good friends.

"They, uh, didn't like me much back then," Adam added to the end of his story, gesturing to the group behind them with a nod of his head. "But I can't blame them. I was a little ass for those first few games."

"Damn right you were," a familiar voice agreed from behind. The couple turned to face Charlie, Adam laughing loudly.

"Speak of the devil," he joked, clamping a hand down hard on his friend's shoulder. Delilah could smell harder alcohol on him, and he swayed under the weight of Adam's hand. Apparently the two were quite far behind in their drinking. Adam felt Delilah tense and pulled her closer, as if offering her protection.

"Oh, you know me," Charlie laughed a little too loudly, clearly amused by the "devil" comment. "I'm great," he called out loudly, stepping closer to them as he almost lost his balance. "I'm fine and everything is fine and I'm having a great time." Suddenly the room grew silent, save the low voices on the television. Charlie wasn't making much sense and seemed to be reassuring himself more than anything else.

"That's good, buddy," Adam acknowledged, patting his friend on the arm. Now he was feeling uncomfortable too, and the face that it was obvious to Delilah made her uneasy.

"Yeah… So, Banksie, tell me: What's it like to screw a girl with a little meat on her bones?" the drunken boy asked, swaggering a bit. The liquid inside of his red plastic cup sloshed over the brim and splattered on the carpet. "Is it different from screwin' a skinny bitch?" he asked, something clearly wrong in his eyes. This wasn't Charlie—this was some alter-ego who only showed up when something bad happened and Charlie tried to drink away his problems. He was too close now—too close for comfort. Adam fists balled tightly, knuckles white, as the inebriated one stepped closer to Delilah, his hand reaching for something at shoulder level. He felt his face grow hot with anger at the sight of fear in his date's eyes; no one missed her flinch as not-Charlie began to finger a strand of her hair. "I only ever fucked that skinny little bitch Linda, and what did that get me?" His hand moved from her hair to her shoulder, and as Delilah began to shake with fear, Adam began to shake with anger. "Nothing. Just made me look like a loser because she was fucking some tennis player behind my back. Real classy, huh?" The drunken hand of not-Charlie began to move toward the neckline of Delilah's dress, his gaze content, when Adam saw it fit to step in.

"You are such a bastard when your drunk," Adam replied, disgusted at the previous question, not to mention, he didn't know he answer to it. Placing himself between his not-best friend and his girlfriend in a very protective manner, he set his hands on not-Charlie's shoulders and moved him steadily backward. "You're starting to make me forget why we're friends when you're sober." Taking a deep, calming breath, he flung an arm around not-Charlie and led him up the stairs toward his bedroom, in hopes that the boy would sleep it off. Hopefully, he wouldn't remember a thing, because if he did, he'd have a major case of guilt in the morning.

* * *

They were in the guest room now. The doors were locked and the lights were off. They were on the full-sized bed; the throw pillows had been tossed to the floor, and the only sounds to be heard were utterly human. Adam lay on top of Delilah, straddling one of her legs. She was on her back on the bed, arms wrapped around the boy as they kissed in the dark. She'd fumbled along with him at first, her lips and hands and emotions about four years behind his. She hadn't kissed a boy like this since one game of Seven Minutes in Heaven in eighth grade. Soon, though, her natural instinct kicked in and though she wasn't as versed in the art of "making out" as Adam was, she held her own pretty well.

It had been fun at first, but now, as his hand worked its way up her thigh and paused at the waistband of her panties, a little voice was screaming inside her to stop him. She couldn't handle this sort of thing—she wasn't ready for sex yet! Mental stoplight flashing above her head, Delilah pushed against Adam's chest with one hand, while catching the wandering fingers in her own. He gave her a confused look as he pulled back, his hands settling on either side of her head. He looked afraid that he'd done something wrong, but at the same time hurt that she hadn't let him continue. Delilah caught her bottom lip between her teeth, slightly embarrassed that she'd stopped him. Sure, she _wanted_ him to continue, but she didn't want him to continue right then. She still couldn't help but feel a little guilty as he looks down at her with those clear blue eyes.

"Everything alright?" he asked in a breathy tone, his face just inches from hers. She could smell the slight hint of alcohol on his breath. Grunting slightly, she slid out from underneath him. Nodding, her eyes locked on his, she struggled to rest on her elbows.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice equally breathy, "I'm fine…I just…" as she fumbled for words, she had to look away from his sweet face. "I don't think I'm ready to keep going with _this_," she admitted, gesturing briefly to the bed beneath them." Her eyes were focused on a particularly distracting flower woven into the bedcovers as she spoke. After what seemed like forever, Adam let out a heavy sigh, then sat back on his heels. Delilah couldn't help but see the disappointment in his face as he maneuvered off of her, only to fall onto his back next to her. "It's not like this is a _never_," she explained, rolling onto her side so she could see him better. "It's just a _not right now._" Delicately, she placed a hand on his chest, resting her face on his shoulder. After a few moments, a smile worked its way onto Adam's lips and he wrapped his arm around the redhead's shoulders. Squeezing her tight, he gave her a sidelong glance, a soft laugh rumbling in his throat.

"You confuse me," he finally told her. Delilah let out a slight laugh as she wrapped her arms around his trim waist. "But in a good way, I think," he added, kissing her on the forehead.

"Do you want to know what it's like to screw a girl with a little meat on her bones?" Delilah asked, with a wink and a quirky grin on her lips as she referenced Charlie's drunken tirade. The boy let out an almost-derisive, guttural chuckle, clearly not as amused by rehashing the night's events as she was.

"Maybe," Adam replied, hand running over the thin fabric that covered her stomach.

"Well, you are going to have to wait a little longer then," she taunted good-naturedly, slipping out of the young man's arms and stepping toward the door of the guestroom. "Come on," she gestured toward the door, her hand turning the doorknob. "We don't want to miss anymore drunken rants."


	6. Same Old Song and Dance

**A/N:** So, it's been about a year and a half since I last updated this story and I feel terrible for having neglected it so much. The thing is that life sort of happened pretty fast for me after I graduated from High School, and a lot of crap came flying my way during my freshman year at college. I've now started my sophomore year and things seem to be going much better than before. Thanks to all of you who are reading this, even though it's been a year and a half since my last update. I really NEED to finish this story-- it's been swimming around in my brain for the past 18 months. I can't get away from it. I have it all planned out and ready to finish now, so here's hoping for the best.

Oh, and I own nothing you recognize, and some of the things you don't. If you read, it would be cool if you wanted to leave a review. I'm a fan of constructive criticism.

I kind of feel this chapter isn't up to my usual standards, but I have mono, so don't judge too harshly ;)

**Playlist:**

_Waiting Line_- Zero 7

_Hey There, Delilah_- Plain White T's

_Caring is Creepy- _The Shins

_Big Girl, You are Beautiful-_ Mika

* * *

Adam lounged lazily at one of the many picnic tables set up outside of the art wing; the sun rained a delightful golden bath over the outdoor patio where only the seniors were allowed to eat lunch. It was a perfect autumn day-- the air was sharp, but the sun was warm. He was happy-- in the two months he'd been dating Delilah his hockey game had recovered, if not improved, and his art history grade had risen two letter grades. But grades and sports weren't the only thing that had gotten better-- Adam believed he, himself, had improved as a person, just by being around the redhead. He wasn't morose or mopey, he had actually developed a plan for what he might do after college. Part of him believed that Delilah just might be the best thing that could have happened to him-- he still got butterflies in his stomach when he saw her for the first time every day. Of course, the realist inside assured him that it was only the euphoria of the newness of their relationship-- which was currently the longest he'd ever had without cheating. He knew eventually things would get rocky-- wasn't it supposed to be 6 months after they first started dating? That's what television and films and books said, anyway. Who knew if they'd even make it to six months? Did it really matter if he was _this_ happy right now?

In an almost sloth-like manner, the wistful young man uncrossed then re-crossed his long legs, propping them up on the table before him. Russ and Averman sat across from him, the two busy arguing furiously about _something._ Again. Icy blue eyes glanced quickly to the watch at Adam's wrist and then back to the argument before him, his smile drooping slightly. Delilah was running 

5 minutes late. Delilah was never late. Delilah was always punctual, and mostly early. Maybe something was wrong? Or maybe, her class just ran a little longer than usual. The second being the more likely event, Adam blinked his eyes, and with them he blinked the worry away and tuned into the conversation he was audience to.

"Dude, it has Aliens. And guns. And Tommy Lee Jones," Averman explained, crossing his freckled arms across his chest. "It _totally _wins, hands down." The look on his face as he squinted through his glasses was indignant and unwavering. He was convinced that his answer was the only option.

"Are you kidding me?" Russ replied, his round jaw hanging open. "Tommy Lee Jones and aliens don't make a movie!" Russ spoke excitedly, using his hands to gesture for emphasis. "Martin Lawrence, car chases, and explosions make a movie!" Adam now understood what the argument was about and with neither party willing to waiver, he felt the obligation to end it.

"I hate to break it to you, Averman," he began, stuffing his hands firmly in the pockets of his Letterman's jacket. "Bad Boys II the best Will Smith sequel. It has the best theme song. Ever." With that, he began to bounce his shoulders and hum the opening notes as Russ began to beat-box, a jovial smile on his lips. Averman rolled his eyes, but the desire to play along tugged the corners of his mouth into a reluctant smile.

"Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do? What you gonna do when they come for you?" the freckled one sang, doing his best imitation of the original singer. Adam continued to hum until Russ abruptly stopped laying down a beat, a confused look on his face followed shortly by one small, freshly-manicured hand finding its way to Adam's unassuming shoulder. Averman however, kept singing until Russ elbowed him in the stomach. Adam looked to the hand and knew who it was immediately, no need to look at the face.

"What do you want, Amber?" he asked through gritted teeth, clearly unhappy to be in such a close proximity with the girl. He was answered with a slight giggle as the girl walked forward and sat on the arm of his chair.

"I need to talk to you," she said, leaning forward, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and cleavage spilling out of her sweater. "Alone," the vixen declared, glancing briefly at Averman and Russ. The two took the hint and rose quickly to find another nearby table, moving to fast to catch Adam's pleading eyes. Satisfied that the others were out of hearing range, the cheerleader smiled and tucked some of Adam's hair behind his ear before speaking again. "I miss you baby," she said, a finger held to the young man's lips to stop him from speaking. "I'm sorry. Really, I am," she continued, running the finger from his lips down to the center of his chest. "I want to be with you again." She slid slyly off of the chair's arm and onto Adam's lap. "Only you." Most young men under these circumstances might have given in-- Amber was gorgeous and exactly what Adam's type had been in the past. He, however, wasn't going to have any of it.

"Get away from me," he instructed her, eyebrows raised. "I'm with someone else, and I'm through with you," he insisted, hands firmly gripping the arms of the chair now and feet planted firmly on the floor, ready to stand up and make her topple over should she not move on her own. 

He didn't like to hurt people, but he'd push her off his lap and onto the patio floor without a second thought or a moment of remorse. Amber only laughed.

"You mean the chubby girl?" she cackled, eyes alight. "The chubby coffee shop girl?" Her laughter grew. Adam was not am used. As he was about to tell Amber just how wonderful the "chubby coffee shop girl" was, he caught sight of a familiar mop of red curls bobbing along the brick fence that encompassed the senior patio. Delilah was on her way to meet him and Amber was sitting on his lap; at the realization of this, Adam instantly felt his face drain of any color. He knew that Amber had no intention of leaving him be, so his only option was to stall Delilah. The panicked boy looked towards where his friends had relocated to, and luckily for him they had not missed a minute of the show Amber was putting on for everyone. All he could do was throw a meaningful nod Delilah's way and hopefully they would know what he needed them to do. They seemed to like her quite a bit-- certainly they'd be willing to help Adam hold onto her and help her avoid any emotional pain. Russ seemed to know exactly what Adam needed and rose, dragging Averman to the gated opening of the patio with him. The two disappeared past the wrought iron just fast enough to head off Delilah. How they were going to keep her out, he had no clue.

"Please leave me alone," Adam begged through gritted teeth, a look of uncomfortable anger contorting his features. The cheerleader didn't budge.

"Oh, you're worried your little girlfriend will see us?" she asked, settling herself onto his lap. "What's the deal with you two anyway?" she asked, running a perfectly manicured fingernail along the boy's jaw. "The other girls on the squad and I have a bet going. See, I think your just using her brain, but a couple of the others think that you had an aneurism and are actually attracted to her." The girl seductively crossed her thin legs over the arm of the chair. "So, I'm right, right? She gives you the answers and then you pay her back by playing a little pickle-me-tickle-me?" The girl was smiling sweetly, as if there was nothing cruel about what she had just said. But Adam didn't see her smile.

Adam's eyes had been trained on the gate the entire time, listening to every word she said but watching for a familiar flash of red, hoping he wouldn't see it. It was at the end of her tirade that it inevitably showed. Delilah had managed to push past Russ and Averman, and entered the patio with a dazzling smile. The smile stayed on her lips for a moment but faded as soon as her gaze landed on Adam. The color rushed out of her round cheeks and a pained expression wound it's way into her eyebrows. The girl's celery green eyes locked with Adam's own blue ones, and then without saying a word she turned and fled. It had all happened so fast that Adam didn't know quite what to do. He didn't move for a moment, stunned by the speed with which the scene had transpired. Finally, his mind caught up with him and he stood, effortlessly rolling the slut off of is lap and onto the floor with a very satisfying thud.

"Amber, please just stay the fuck away," he grumbled to the girl on the floor as he left to follow Delilah. Ten minutes ago he was realizing how wonderful life with her had become. Now he had to worry about how terrible it would be if he lost her.



* * *

Delilah plodded along the track that wound around campus, her shins aching with every step, her chest hurting with every breath, a jolt of pain running from her bad knee up her leg every time she put it down. The wind was cold and it was almost dark outside, but she wasn't stopping yet; she'd been jogging for quite a while, and if she could just keep it up for a little longer, she'd finish her fourth mile.

After she'd seen Adam with _that girl_ on the patio, she went back to her dorm room and cried for about an hour. She didn't go to any of her afternoon classes; instead, she brooded in front of the mirror, mentally dissecting her body and comparing each and every part to the cheerleader who seemed so at home on _her _boyfriend's lap. She'd gone quickly from anger to self-blame, fluctuating quickly between the two. What was so wrong with her that he had to go find someone else to be with? Maybe it wasn't what she looked like, but rather what she wouldn't do. Maybe it was because she wouldn't sleep with him. Maybe Marianne had been right from the beginning and he was only in their relationship for the grades. Maybe he had just gotten bored.

Eventually, she'd gotten tired of wondering why, and grew stir-crazy so she pulled on her sneakers and went out for a quick jog that turned into a very long jog. As she ran through the grove of trees out past the baseball fields, the girl couldn't stop playing out what she'd experienced that afternoon:

_Delilah practically bounced with every step as she rounded the brick wall that surrounded the patio where her boyfriend waited for her. She was running late; a spirited discussion with her World History professor about Anne Boleyn and hereditary polydactylism had kept her about five minutes behind schedule. The girl was terribly excited to see her boyfriend of two months and four days (to be exact) because it was the first time she would be able to actually sit and talk with him in over a week. As she rounded the corner, just a few steps away from the gate that would lead her onto the patio, she was met by awkward smiles on two familiar faces. _

"_Hey there, Delilah!" Averman chimed, grinning like an idiot. Russ stood next to him and raised a hand in slight wave. Delilah responded, slightly annoyed that one more thing was keeping her from seeing Adam. "Tell, me, have you ever been to New York City?" Averman continued, the grin starting to fade a little. "What's it like?" _

"_Wow, Averman," the girl retorted weakly, "I've never heard that one before." A roll of her eyes emphasized her lack of amusement. Not-so-Secretly, she really liked when Averman joked with her, especially when it was with those obnoxious song lyrics—that was the third time she could remember him doing it. But everyone did it—when your name is used in a song, you've got to get used to hearing it. "Aren't you two eating lunch with me and Adam today?" she asked, walking around the pair; they shifted to block her entry again. _

"_Yeah, but we had a question for you," Russ began, and then stared at Averman for a moment before continuing. "See, we're having a debate," he stammered, clearly making things up as he was going along. Why was he trying to stall her? "We are trying to figure out which Will Smith sequel is the best: Bad Boys II or Men in Black II ?"_

_Delilah gave the two a confused smile, concerned about their behavior and their sanity. "I've never seen either, so I can't help you, guys," she answered, side stepping the duo, too quick for them to block her this time. "I'm going to go see Adam, you two can join us, if you want." The girl walked through the gate. They tried to stop her, called out a few warnings, but she really couldn't hear anything once her eyes locked on the scene before her. Adam sat relaxed in a chair with one of the cheerleaders lounging on his lap, looking very comfortable. After a second, she realized that it was one of the cheerleaders he had dated: the last one he had dated before he started dating her. Her eyes met his cool blue ones and held them for a moment. _How could you? _they implored. Without another moment's thought, she turned and walked away as fast a she could. _

Shaking her head, the girl wiped away a tear with the back of her hand as she jogged toward the door of the girls' dorm. On the steps of the porch there stood a familiar, boy-shaped figure; it was twilight, and shadows made it difficult to see, but she could tell it was the familiar boy-shaped figure of someone she wasn't very happy with.

"Delilah," Russ called as she got closer.

"I don't want to talk to you," she explained when she got close enough to the steps to walk past him.

"Just listen," he implored, grabbing her by the wrist. She quickly jerked her hand away but stayed put, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles began to turn white.

"You covered up for him! You tried to stall me!" She exclaimed loudly, causing a few glances of people milling about campus to be trained their way.

"Just listen, and don't say anything," the young man implored again, rubbing a hand over his short, textured hair. "I just wanted you to know that what happened earlier wasn't Adams fault." He met Delilah's eyes with his own large brown ones, showing obvious concern. "He actually ended up throwing her off of his lap after he left, when he went to chase after you. He wasn't cheating. It was all her." A frown crossed his lips as the girl stood defiantly in front of her, arms crossed over her chest. "He really cares about you. Just remember that." Without another word, he turned and left, a stunned Delilah standing on the porch in his wake.

* * *

Delilah sat in the tiny kitchen of the girl's dorm, an imaginary morose little rain cloud floating over her head. Alone, she slumped forward, arms crossed against the cold wood tabletop, her chin resting against her freckled skin. Green eyes focused on the empty pint of Ben & Jerry's Dublin Mudslide that sat before her, the handle of a silver spoon sticking out of it. She'd been saving the ice cream for a really bad day, perhaps one when she was very ill. This day was certainly worthy. She felt bad about herself now, for eating the entire thing. She deserved it, though, being able to eat a whole pint of ice cream—she'd jogged four miles, which was more than she'd done ever.  
"Is he already yours?" A voice asked from the doorway. Delilah looked over her shoulder and saw Beth, one of the other residents, leaning against the door frame, her eyebrows raised and mouth cocked in a half-smile.

"What?" Delilah asked, her voice rising in a confused tone as she turned back to her ice cream carton. Beth walked into the room and sat down at a chair across from Delilah, dropping her bag to the floor and then propping her face up in her hands as her elbows leaned against the table. She was a bigger girl, and not very pretty in a conventional way. At six feet, four inches, she stood taller than most of the boys at the school. She was considerably overweight and her frizzy blonde hair created quite the afro around her head—a halo, almost. She had small eyes and unsightly acne, and as much as Delilah hated to think it, she had a feeling that no one was going to ask _her_ out to dinner.

For all of that—all of the judgments Delilah had made in such a short amount of time, all the judgments that others had surely made over the years, Beth radiated a confidence and happiness that many a young woman would kill for gladly. She always smiled, was friendly with everyone, and never made a big fuss over getting ready to go out. Delilah didn't know that a big portion of that demeanor was only a façade—a way to make herself feel better for what she considered her own short-comings. She never let anyone catch on to that, though.

"You're sad about a boy, right?" she asked, not pausing to actually get an answer. "I observe a lot around this dorm and when I see a girl in work-out clothes sitting in an empty room with ice cream, it generally has something to do with a boy. So, is he already yours, or are you trying to get him?" She waited, patient in the silence as Delilah tried to decide whether or not she wanted to talk about her problems with Adam out loud.

"I've got him already," she replied, leaning back in her chair now, arms crossed over her chest. "Well, at least I think I've got him now," she continued an internal barrier starting to wear down a little bit. "I caught him with another girl sitting on is lap today—an ex. One of his friends says that it was all a big misunderstanding. But she was sitting on his lap! In front of everyone." The redhead could feel her cheeks growing hot with anger.

"Did he look like he enjoyed it?" Beth asked, her face devoid of any judgment just yet. Delilah had to think about that one very carefully. In her mind when she'd replayed it, he'd always looked happy to be with girl—like he wanted her there. When she really thought about it, when she sifted through her emotions and found only memory, she could see it as it really happened—he had pained look of discomfort, and when he caught her eye, it turned into horror. "I want to you to think about something," Beth began, once again not waiting for Delilah to answer. "If he didn't look like he enjoyed it, he probably didn't. If his friend says it was a misunderstanding, it might have been. But he picked you. He picked you, when he probably could have picked this other girl instead." The girl bent over and dug through her purse, and after a little while produced a brightly colored CD case. "I know none of that is really going to make you feel better right now, though. Probably worse. So go up to your room and put this on track 9. It always makes me feel better." She slid the CD across the table. "Just get it back to me later, when you feel better." She stood, grabbed her bag and disappeared out of the kitchen door before poking her head around one more time. "Straight to track 9! You can listen to the rest later." With that, she disappeared, leaving Delilah alone with the CD, the ice cream carton, and her thoughts.

* * *

The CD slid into place and Delilah shut the player, quickly tuned it to track 9, as instructed, and then began to change out of her running clothes and into her pajamas. She kicked off her shoes and tugged off her socks to the sound of someone slurping a drink through a straw, tugged off her sweat pants to a chorus singing "Big Girl, You are Beautiful!" in a delightful tone. The CD player began to pump out an infectious beat, one that she couldn't help bounce her hips to as she pulled her top over her head.

_Walks into the room  
Feels like a big balloon I said,  
Hey girls you are beautiful' _

A silly smile spread across her lips as the lyrics began, and she tapped her foot as she tossed her clothes into the hamper. If the first few measures of the song were any indication, Beth had been completely correct about its healing properties. Delilah tapped her foot as she tossed her clothes into the hamper. 

_You take your skinny girl  
Feel like I'm gonna die  
'Cause a real woman  
Needs a real man here's why  
You take your girl  
And multiply her by four  
Now a whole lot of woman  
Needs a whole lot more  
_

Delilah was more than just tapping and swaying now—her body surged with the beat, arms over head and hips swinging as she twirled around the dorm room in briefs and her sports bra. Her ponytail holder had come loose and now wild red curls bounced around her head as she bounced and twisted to the song. Dancing was always so much more fun when you acted like a total idiot and just let everything go.

_Get yourself to the Butterfly Lounge  
Find yourself a big lady  
Big boy come on around  
And they'll be calling you baby  
_

"Big girl you are beautiful!" she now sang along with the voice on the track, hers cracking as she sang louder. "Big girl, you are beautifah-uahl!" She ran a hand through her hair and then shook her curls, snapping her fingers as she moved about the floor. She stopped still as she heard the door creak open and turned quickly to face Marianne. Except it wasn't Marianne.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Adam, who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary as he leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets. She was far to stunned at his being in the GIRLS DORMITORY to remember she was wearing next to nothing.  


_Big girl you are beautiful!_


	7. Kissing and Telling

**A/N:** Since I'm trapped at home with mono, I thought I'd go ahead and crank out another chapter. I hope this one is better than the last.

_**A LITTLE BIT OF SMUT IN THIS ONE!!**_

I own nothing you recognize, and some of the things you don't. If you read, it would be cool if you wanted to leave a review. I'm a fan of constructive criticism.

**Playlist:  
**_Whole Wide World_- Wreckless Eric_  
__Delicate_- Damien Rice  
_Skinny Love_- Bon Iver  
_500 Miles_- The Proclaimers

* * *

Adam blinked dreamily in the soft light that streamed through the window blinds over the bed. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He jumped, waking Delilah who slept against his shoulder, as he locked eyes with the figure looming over the bed they lie in. Realizing it was Marianne, Delilah's roommate, he relaxed against the bed once more, and rubbed his eyes. He felt Delilah move her head, apparently to look at the alarm clock on her night stand.

"Just now getting in?" the redhead asked, her voice husky with sleep. "It's five-thirty in the morning." Delilah relaxed back against the boy as her roommate threw the handbag she carried to the floor with a loud thud.

"Isn't five-thirty a little late to be out on a school night?" Adam asked rubbing his hand through tangled locks that lay matted across his forehead.

"Don't you have one too many appendages to be sleeping in the girl's dorm?" Marianne asked, her question followed by the sound of her small body flopping onto her bed across the room. She _did_ have a point. Smiling guiltily, he pulled Delilah's soft body closer to him and blushed at the sensation of her breasts against the skin of his chest when he rolled over to face her. "Wait, five-thirty?" he asked, alarm in his voice as the time registered in his brain. "I've got to be on the ice in thirty minutes!" He rolled the sleepy girl off of him, then sprang out of bed and began to dress quickly, finding everything but his underwear and one of his socks on the floor; he'd find them later. "I love you," he whispered then kissed her cheek and left the room, stealthily slinking down the hall to the window he'd used to gain entrance to the building. Hurriedly, shoes tied together and thrown over his shoulder, he scaled down the tree outside of the window and began to run towards his own dorm as soon as his feet hit the ground.

Once he reached his own dorm, after a condescending look from the front desk attendant, he grabbed his things quickly and made a dash for the hockey rink; Charlie had already left. He did his best to dress as he went, pulling on what clothing and pads as he could as he 

sprinted across the grass, damp with dew. At one point he slipped and fell, leaving a long green stain up the leg of his thigh-high hockey sock.

Miracle of all miracles, he made it onto the ice by six, breathing heavily as Coach Orion took roll. He had a feeling he might as well have just been late for practice—with the events of the previous evening playing in his head, he wouldn't be able to focus enough to play well today. Coach was probably going to punish them all for his lack of concentration. Even with that knowledge, he couldn't stop thinking about the night before:

* * *

_Adam had been heartbroken when he couldn't find Delilah after lunch. He looked all over campus for her, and then when she wasn't in Art History, he was even more worried. It was just like Amber, to go and try to fuck things up when they were good. When classes let out, he started to look for her again—he eventually just wandered to his thinking tree, the one in the grove by the baseball fields. He climbed, with stealthy ease up in it's branches and settled above the eye line of most who walked through its way. Eventually, he caught sight of Delilah as she jogged through. He wanted to jump down and corner her—to force her to listen to him—but he didn't. The look on her face was one of being completely lost; he could see tear-trails on her cheeks as they glistened in the dying sunlight. He wasn't an idiot—he knew what his run-in with Amber had looked like. He just didn't know how to fix it, and he couldn't stand to make Delilah cry when she'd clearly been doing so already. So he let her go, but he followed at a safe distance, watching her safely back to the dorm. _

_He stopped when he saw Russ step off of the porch; ducking behind a tree, he watched the exchange between the two. She seemed tense, and he looked apologetic. He watched as she tried to leave Russ behind, and then as she shouted the only part of the conversation that was audible from his position:_

"**You covered up for him! You tried to stall me!"**

_Adam leaned back against the tree, facing away from the place where Russ and Delilah's interlude was happening. He slid down the tree, the rough bark tugging his shirt up and biting into the bare skin on his back. Cradling his head in his hands, he stared at the hodge-podge of dirt and grass and rocks and exposed tree root on the ground before him. _What am I going to do?_ he thought, shoving the heels of his hands into his eye sockets._ How am I going to fix this? _The pressure of his hands felt good, but not good enough to distract him from the problem at hand, and it certainly wasn't doing anything to help him find a solution. _

"_I have to talk to her," he said out loud, and with a sudden surge of brilliance, reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He scrolled through his call history and quickly found her number; he waited for a ring tone, but instead the call went straight to voice mail. She'd turned her phone off. Or more likely, she'd forgotten to charge her phone and now it lay dead in the bottom of her book bag or under her bed, which was the reason he hadn't tried calling her before. Thinking somewhat slowly, he stood, brushed the bark and dirt off of his clothes, and then made his way to the dorm lobby where Delilah must have disappeared to when he was trying to call her. _

_When he reached the front porch, he poised his hand to knock, but remembering her statement on their first date, reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open instead. A couple who sat studying on the floor next to a coffee table glanced his way as he stepped inside the door. Shrugging their looks away, the determined young man walked to the front desk attendant and asked to see a student directory. Once he had the book in his hands, he quickly flipped to the "J" section. After some searching, he came across a listing for Johnson, Delilah and wrote down her room extension. He dialed the number as he walked out the door. Looking scanning the second floor windows, he counted and found where room her room should have been, based on the extension number. The lights were out in what he deduced to be room 213, and he waited impatiently for the phone to go to the message service. He hung up and dialed again. And again. And again. For thirty minutes, he continued, hoping eventually she'd answer; that someone would answer. But she didn't, and he never left a message. _

_Finally, the boy resigned that there was only one thing left to do. He was going to get up to her room and wait for her to talk to him. He'd lock her in when she got there and force her to listen. It seemed perfectly logical in his impassioned mind as he made his way around the side of the building, careful not to be seen as he slipped alongside the building. He found the tree he'd used when he would sneak in to see Amber, and Tiffany before that, and Cindy before that. He grabbed hold of it's familiar branches and pushed off of the ground, working his way up the oak, carefully hidden between the tree and the building. _

_When he reached the second floor, he was happy to see that the window was, as usual, open to let in cool air on the fall evening. Carful not to lose his balance, he pushed the window open far enough o fit his body inside it and carefully made his way into the familiar territory of the second floor of the girl's dorm. Quietly, he crept down the hall, grateful that all of the doors had been closed so far. He came across an open one, and prayed that the resident would be generous enough to let him pass without alerting the dorm mother. Creeping by, he looked inside to see Beth, a girl that must have been friends with everyone on campus. Smiling sheepishly, he held up his finger against his lips in a shushing motion. The girl smiled and nodded from where she sat at her desk. Just to be safe, Adam help up two fingers, then one, then three and pointed down the hallway. Beth nodded, confirming that yes, room 213 was in the direction he had been heading. "Thank you," he mouthed before turning to leave, a bit braver and even more desperate to see Delilah._

_As he rounded the corner to room 213, a loud, pulsing beat became audible. He got closer and realized that the sound was coming from Delilah's room, which was now inhabited by someone. The door had been left open just a crack, and he peered inside. There she was, alone and in nothing but her underwear looking happier than ever as she danced and sang around her room. She was positively glowing, Adam noted, as a rather exuberant booty shake was sent unknowingly in his direction. Slowly, he eased the door open further and further, moving himself further and further inside. She looked so sexy, so happy, as she twirled and sang off key, and even Adam had to admit that the beat was a rather infectious one. He could feel himself smiling now too, but as he leaned against the door frame, his foot knocked against the door and pushed it open even further, causing it to elicit a betraying squeal. Delilah stopped still._

"_What are you doing here?" she demanded, standing in front of him so innocently exposed. "Do you know how much trouble I'll be if someone finds you here in my room?" She marched towards him, curls bouncing as she yanked him inside and flung the door shut behind him, careful to lock it. Her cheeks raged red. "What the hell were you thinking, coming in here! This is a girl's dorm and I'm not one of the floozy cheerleaders whose daddy can pay off the headmaster if they get caught! I have to keep my scholarship!" She was furious, her fists balled as she talked Adam into a corner. Her green eyes blazed with anger as she beat one of her balled hands against his chest. Adam caught her by the wrist and placed another hand on her shoulder, gave her one good shake, trying to knock some sense into her._

"_You aren't going to get in trouble," he assured her, gripping her eyes with his own. She was so tense in his arms. "Not that this is going to make you feel any better, but I've done it a dozen times before. Haven't been caught yet." Delilah relaxed a little, and then jerked her wrist away from him. She rubbed the hand over her face, then glanced down and remembered just exactly what she had been wearing._

"_Oh my God!" she exclaimed, practically jumping back away from Adam. She glanced around for her robe but couldn't find it, so she pathetically attempted to cover herself up with one arm across her chest, the other across her stomach. No matter what she did, though, she couldn't stop Adam from seeing the Hello Kitty design on her panties, and she couldn't make him un-see what he'd already seen. _

"_Don't cover up," he said as stepped forward, trying to comfort her. "You're beautiful," he insisted, slowly walking closer. She didn't back up. "I've never seen you look so happy and beautiful as you did when you were dancing earlier," he continued, surprising himself a little._

"_Oh, you saw that?" she exclaimed, holding her face in her hands. "I should really lock the door more often," she murmured, sitting down her bed, which she'd inadvertently backed into. Adam sat down next to her and used his own hands to pull hers away from her face. _

"_I need to talk to you about earlier," he said, choking on his works a little bit. "I would never, ever cheat on you." He ran a finger softly along her jaw, then raised hr chin so that she had to look him in the eyes. "Never," he said again, confirming once more._

"_I know," Delilah answered, chin quivering in his hand. "Russ told me it was all a misunderstanding. I just..." she looked away from him as if she were afraid to say it to his face. "I just don't compare to her, you know, physically. And I thought maybe you wanted to be with someone more like her, so it got me thinking that I wasn't good enough for you." Adam was a little angered by her explanation; he grabbed her cheeks and forced her to look at him again. _

"_You're right. You don't compare to Amber because you aren't in the same league as Amber." He moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back from him just a bit. "You are a hundred times better than Amber could ever even think about being. So don't ever let me hear you compare yourself to her again!" He wrapped his arms around her and brought her close to him, one hand resting on the soft skin of the small of her back. "I called you."_

"_My phone is dead," she said into his shoulder, her voice slightly muffled._

"_I called the dorm line, too." Delilah glanced to her desk and Adam's eyes followed—the missed call light was blinking. "I love you." He was surprised that the words fell out of his mouth so carelessly, but he felt relieved when they came out. Delilah pushed away from him so that she could see his face, eyebrow raised in a skeptical fashion. "I do!" he confirmed, his eyes wide. "I love you so much that I stalked you when you were jogging earlier, all the way back from the baseball fields, just because I wanted to be near you." He kissed her on the cheek. "I love you so much that I stood outside and looked up to your window while I called your dorm line for thirty minutes because I needed to talk to you that badly." He kissed the other cheek. "I love so much that I can't even imagine not being with you anymore. I love you, Delilah Johnson." He waited, concerned after his revelation. Adam had never said anything like that to a girl before—never shared that much of himself with anyone. Delilah bit her lip, gapped teeth rubbing against Adam's favorite freckle as her eyes wandered up and down his figure. When she finally spoke, he was a little caught off guard. _

"_Did you really throw her on the ground?" she asked, mouth cocked in an awkward half-smile. All Adam had to do was nod and the girl launched herself onto him, kissing him passionately. The two tumbled backward, Adam knocking his head against the wall. Delilah sat up with a concerned look, but the boy just rubbed the pain away and began to kiss her again. _

_Eventually, the two ended up reclined, with Adam lying on top. Delilah tugged eagerly at his shirt, and after some fumbling eventually got it over his head. She ran a hand along his bare chest before reaching down to unbutton his jeans. Her hands were shaking and fumbling and eventually she had to surrender and let him do it himself. Awkwardly, he kicked them off onto the floor; the two laughed and breathed heavily. While kissing her neck, Adam slowly slid a hand under the band of the sports bra Delilah was wearing—when met with now protest, he continued urging it up to reveal her shapely chest, flushed pink with the excitement. Not having any nonsense, the girl pulled away and removed the thing the rest of the way, tossing it away. Adam tenderly caressed her breasts, kissing her deeply on the mouth as he did such. Delilah's hands found the way to the waistband of his underwear and dipped her fingertips inside; she could feel him against her leg, and deep down she knew she wanted this as badly as he seemed to. Adam stopped for a moment and pushed away from the girl, resting his elbows on either side of her head. _

"_Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked, a look of concern in his eyes as his chest heaved against hers. Delilah nodded, then grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer. She began to kiss his ear and he relaxed into her. In only a moment more, they were both out of their underwear, Delilah's body quivering as she waited for him. He pushed up on his hands once more. "You're sure?" he asked, his face just inches from hers, the two barely able to control their breathing._

"_If you keep asking, I'm eventually going to say no," she responded, her voice low and sultry. Without another moment's hesitation, he kissed her again and slowly delved into her, their bodies pressed close together, as Delilah elicited a soft moan._

* * *

_The couple lay tangled in each others arms, not moving from where they'd collapsed only moments before. Neither of them had spoken. Delilah's head lay against Adams chest, her warm breath teasing the skin each time she exhaled. Adam's arms were rapped around the girl, his hands rubbing soft circles on the skin of her back and shoulders._

"_I love you, too," she said, before pressing a kiss into his skin. "I never said it earlier, but I do. I really do." Adam squeezed her tighter, pressing a kiss into her forehead. Within moments, the two were sound asleep._

* * *

"Cake Eater, watch out!" Goldberg called, but it was too late. The rogue puck that Fulton had shot while Adam was daydreaming sailed straight to him and hit his eye with a stomach-turning "smack." Almost instantaneously, Adam's body hit the ice with a "thud".

"Shit!" he yelled as he struggled to open his eye. As soon as he could, the first thing he saw was Charlie was standing over him with an outstretched hand.

"Adam, are you okay?" he asked as Adam felt his face where the puck had hit. Satisfied that all of his bones were still intact, the boy took his friend's hand and righted himself.

"Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," Averman noted needlessly as he skated closer. Within moments, Coach Orion was at Adam's side. He grabbed the boy by the chin and looked at the injury, then at his pupils.

"Conway, take Banks to see Doc Stevens, and when you bring him back can you make sure he has his brain with him?" The Coach skated off, ready to start practice for the non-injured players.

"Sure think, Coach," Charlie called over his shoulder as he led Adam off of the ice.

"Sorry, Banks!" Fulton called over the glass as the two boys disappeared towards the Sports Medicine office.

"What the hell were you thinking about?" Charlie asked as the two rounded a corner, out of the earshot of anyone who was on the ice. "And where were you last night, man?"

"You remember that question you asked me at the party when your parents were out of town?" Adam asked groggily. Charlie nodded, a little cloud of guilt settling over his eyes. "Well, I found out last night," he replied, stumbling a bit as they walked gingerly down the hallway on their blades.

"Are you," Charlie began, slightly confused. "Are you shittin' me?" He tugged on Adam's jersey, beckoning him to stop. "I thought you two were fighting."

"It was all just a misunderstanding. We fixed it," Adam explained, swaying a little. "I really love her." The boy swayed more obviously now, dangerously teetering to one side. Charlie 

quickly grabbed him and held him upright. "Also," he began to slur a little, "I think I have a concussion."

"I think you're right," Charlie replied, and ushered his friend down the hall. He'd pressure him for details later, when his brain wasn't broken.


End file.
